A Message For Hardcastle
by dcat8888
Summary: Someone has something to say to Milt and Mark's caught in the middle.


A Message For Hardcastle

by dcat

OOOOO

Hardcastle, McCormick and Frank Harper do not belong to me. As for the rest of the characters, they were born somewhere deep in the bowels of my crazy imagination.

Warning: This story contains some extreme violence and a small amount of profanity. If it offends you, please do not read any further.

OOOOO

There were seven square miles of dilapidated cars with spare parts calling out from every inch of the auto graveyard. It was a veritable maze for an average 'gear head.'

Four years earlier, prior to San Quentin and Hardcase, 'Skid' Mark McCormick would have thought that rummaging around the lot for a few hours was a fairly good time, but since he'd managed to hook up with Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, the life of a fairly accomplished race car driver and mechanic didn't have the same luster it once had. He didn't regret it though. As he meandered around, weaving in between the rows and rows of cars, he wondered when exactly his feeling for cars began to actually wane and wondered even more when his apparent attachment to fighting crime had grown.

There was no definite answer or date he could put his finger on. And so why exactly was he back amongst the dead, rusted out auto's on this rather non-descript, sun-drenched Southern California Monday afternoon, when he could be helping Hardcase rummage through his old case files and dig out another low-life to chase down?

That was an easy answer. The two of them had finished up taking down Steven Kennedy and his protégé, a young kid named Lance Cash, from the illegal trucking scam they had been running. Kennedy had been on the Judge's list for a long time now and as he was always fond of finding some young, talented accomplice to do his dirty work. Kennedy would find some down and out, poverty ridden kid, hungry in more ways than one, looking for a way to climb out of the despair and he'd found just that in Lance Cash. Over the years, his protégé's had followed Kennedy's lead into criminal activities and gone on to start their own illegal and profitable ventures as well. Hardcastle and McCormick had taken down two of the former protégé's already, but each time unable to put the screws to the mastermind Steven Kennedy. This time, the Judge had had enough, he wanted to go straight to the top and that meant Steven Kennedy. The final blow was catching them as they transported stolen appliances across state lines. Kennedy and Cash took the helm behind two semis full of merchandise and set out to escape. Hardcastle and McCormick gave chase and nailed Kennedy 200 miles later in a road chase that nearly got the Coyote crushed by the two semis driven by Kennedy and Cash. They all came to a dizzy-ing stop and McCormick took care of Cash, while Hardcastle, in the pick-up, followed behind and captured Kennedy on his own. Hardcastle wore a look of immense satisfaction when McCormick hauled Cash back to where Kennedy and the Judge were. McCormick couldn't recall seeing him with that satisfied look on his face since perhaps they had wrapped up the Joe Cadillac case. The two men were now behind bars awaiting trials and long prison terms.

The second reason McCormick had time to rummage through the auto yard was that it was a favor to the Judge.

Well, not so much Judge Hardcastle specifically, but a friend of the Judge's, Bart Andrews, a sports agent for many Los Angeles based athletes. A few days after they had captured Kennedy and Cash, Bart had called up to inquire about Mark's availability in his former trade. Andrews occasionally fixed up Hardcastle, and therefore Mark as well, with prime tickets to some of the cities best seat locations at the most incredible collegiate and professional games. Andrews and Hardcastle went back a few years as having attended law school at the same time. Bart was considerably younger than Hardcastle though, as he had gone right from undergraduate school into law school, while Milt had begun his career as a police officer, then started a family and then eventually was accepted into law school. Andrews wasn't much older than McCormick actually.

Bart Andrews's prolific rise to the top of the sports agency field was well known. Some of his early clients had been busts, but he'd hit it big when he had signed a washed-out pitcher to his stable of athletes. He worked a deal for him and the player signed with the Yankees. He had a record breaking season and both men made a ton of money. Since then, Andrews had been working his magic across the country, signing young, up and coming talent across every major pro sport in the States. Andrews also had a fondness for old, muscle cars and owned a number of antique automobiles and today's problem child was a vintage 1964 Ford Mustang Convertible. On the outside, the car was in great shape, not a speck of rust on her fire-engine red body, but the engine was a complete and total mess, and Hardcastle had gladly offered up McCormick's services since they were between cases. It was the least Milt and Mark could do for him after all the tickets they'd been given.

Part of McCormick didn't really want to get all involved in refurbishing a car, but this was a '64 Mustang, one of the originals right off the first line. How many guys would kill for a chance to work on a car like that? It was the nostalgia that finally got to him.

The fun part of this adventure was that Bart Andrews was no cheapskate when it came to this or any of his cars. He gave Mark carte blanche to do whatever it took or cost to get whatever parts were needed for the repair.

The two of them had driven over to the used car parts lot together and while Bart hung around the office yakking with the lot owner, an old friend of McCormick's named Gino Moretti, Mark went about exploring the endless sea of cars till he began to find what he was looking for.

And as he wandered, some of that old feeling and love he had for racing and mechanic-ing returned to him. He started to hum a little as he meandered, poking his head under hoods and peering inside the hollowed remains for any sort of special treasure and specifically, something that would make a classic '64 Mustang hum as well. Over an hour had already passed since he had first begun his search. Gino must have been regaling Bart with some of his unique stories of racing over at Monte Carlo, back when Gino was barely a teenager, because he hadn't heard or seen either of them wander out into the lot. McCormick recalled how well Gino could spin a tale. By now, Bart would be more than intrigued by Moretti's historic past. And that was good, because it meant that Mark had more time to explore for just the right parts, something he liked to do on his own, without some slightly knowledgeable owner breathing down his neck.

He spotted a rusted out, what appeared at one time to be a powder blue Mustang body and hoofed on over to where it sat. When he snuck a peek under the hood he couldn't believe his eyes. It was a four-barrel 289 making 220 horsepower; and, at the top, the famous "K-code" high-compression, solid-lifter, four-barrel 289 pumping out a lusty 271 horsepower. K-code-equipped cars got a special badge on their front fenders indicating that not only did the engine displace 289 cubic inches, but that it was also the "High Performance" version. It didn't seem like this particular engine fit with the powder blue exterior it was encased in, but in any matter, he was anxious at having spotted it as if it were some sort of buried treasure and now he was anxious to share his 'find' with Bart, the captain and charge card holder of this particular bounty. "You old track-rat Moretti, holding out on me. I know you knew this little piece of gold was out here, you're just testing me to see if I could find it. Give me a little more credit here. This isn't my first time around the yard, my old friend," McCormick said aloud, though no one was around. "You could have saved me an hour!"

McCormick gave a good once over to the engine. It looked to be in pretty good shape too. Maybe an element here or there still would need to be replaced, but overall, it appeared that it could start right up and roar right here amidst all these wrecks.

He looked it over more carefully one additional time and muttered under his breath, "I'll be damned. I never thought something like this would be here." He stood up straight and just stared at it, letting the beautiful monster engine mesmerize him.

And then, just as suddenly as he'd found it and was thinking of all the possibilities of working on it to restore it, his world went completely black from a heinous blindsided attack.

Someone or ones had come up behind him and clubbed him from behind with some sort of blunt instrument, a heavy led pipe to be exact, and there were two attackers. At the moment of impact, his hands began to rise in an effort to attempt to protect the back of his head from the blow, but it was all too little and too late. He never heard or saw anything coming. He fell to the littered ground below him in a massive heap, never knowing why or what or who had struck him down. The back of his skull had been busted wide open and blood began to ooze out right away. He'd recall none of the rest of the attack himself as the moment he hit the dirt he was rendered unconscious.

The man who had wielded the pipe club momentarily dropped his initial weapon to the ground beside McCormick. He was on a mission and he didn't need that particular tool any longer. The rest of the work he could take care of with his own mighty hands. The lead pipe made a dank clunk as it hit a metal bumper of a '54 Chevy that was nearby. A sadistic grin spread over his face. He knew exactly what sort of work brought him pleasure and it was the work of punishment and pain.

Another man, only slightly smaller in stature from the first came up beside the man who had the pipe and asked, "That's it? Why'd this take both of us? You don't need me for this, you got it under control."

"It's not _it_," the man said icily, "It'll just make the rest of what we have to do to him easier. He'll make a nice workout. Pick him up," the first man commanded, re-adjusting the heavy black leather gloves he wore over his hands, until they were perfectly taut over his massive hands.

"He's out cold, are you crazy? In fact you probably fractured his skull with that thing. I think he'll get the message, that is if he ever wakes up from it, that is," the second man nearly whined. He didn't relish doing this sort of thing like the first man did. Delivering a particularly punishing blow to someone was one thing, but continuing to inflict abuse to someone who couldn't defend themselves wasn't his cup of tea. It never had been. That wasn't a sport, it was inhuman if someone couldn't fight back. But he always got the raw end of these sorts of deals and he knew he wouldn't win the argument. He wasn't looking forward to whatever the first man had in mind, so he used his quick wit to attempt to get out of what he knew was inevitably coming next. Picking up an average man of height and weight who was dead weight, was no easy task and he didn't look forward to having to attempt it.

"I said pick him up," the huge man stated coldly, once again. His tone suggested that this would be the last 'nice' request he'd make. "We need to finish this up before anyone spots us. We got our orders. Now are you going to pick him up or do I need to use that pipe on your head next?"

It was no use trying to reason with his 'friend.' Words didn't mean anything. He was only interested in action. And only the most violent, destructive type of action would suffice his gargantuan appetite. Without speaking, the second man dropped down to a knee beside McCormick and secured him under his arms and hauled him up to his feet as best he could. He huffed and puffed as he managed to get himself and McCormick upright. It was useless to argue with the first man, he knew that from experience. McCormick's legs immediately buckled under him while his chin lolled against his own chest and the blood from his skull wound continued to drip down the back of his neck. For a second, he wondered if this curly-headed kid was already dead, but he let go of the thought as he heard McCormick suck in a strained breath of air. The man who held him was at least 6'4" and had a good one hundred pounds on McCormick and yet he still struggled in lifting McCormick's wiry frame. Manhandling dead weight wasn't an easy thing to do. The first man was even of larger stature, standing easily 6'8" or 6'9"and easily weighing over 300 pounds. Either one of these behemoths could have easily cleaned McCormick's clock in the solo-mode, but this vicious, planned attack wasn't merely directed at McCormick. In fact it really wasn't directed at McCormick at all.

It was to be a message to Judge Milton C. Hardcastle.

"Pick up his head," the first man commanded.

"Pick up his head? Are you nuts?" The second man repeated, not believing what was being asked of him. "I only got two hands here, he's not exactly a 98 pound weakling," the second man was struggling to keep himself and McCormick on their feet.

"Do it and brace yourself," there was that menacing tone again.

This time he didn't answer back. It took him another second to figure out how he was going to manage it and then he came up with an idea of sorts. The second man grabbed a handful of Mark's curly hair, effectively picking his head off his own chest as he himself attempted to steady himself, while keeping McCormick in a semi-standing position against his body. The second man's height advantage was coming into play during this ordeal as he was able to somewhat manhandle Mark's unsuspecting body for the punishment it was about to get. He sort of leaned Mark's bloody head against the side of his own neck, tucking it under his chin and then he braced himself for the shot that the first man was about to deliver.

The first man balled up his right hand into a powerful fist and smashed it against the left side of Mark's face, sending both Mark and man number two sprawling to the ground. McCormick's lip started to bleed. "Pick him up again," snarled the first man. "And I wish you'd learn to stay on your feet, you really break my concentration when you fall over with them like that. I don't like taking too much time doing this, I want to get in and get out."

"Yeah, sorry about that, but this ain't exactly easy to do," he answered sarcastically, but the second man didn't question him at all this time and he again gathered up the dead weight of McCormick under his arms in the same way again, rose up straight, pulled back his head by grabbing a handful of hair, tucked Mark's head against his body and chin and waited as man number one's fist again collided with Mark's face. This time it was an uppercut that served to shatter McCormick's jaw. The two of them repeated the same process at least a half dozen more times, coming at Mark from both the right and left side with equal force and punishment time and time again. Blood began to pour from McCormick's nose and lips and mouth as well as a deep gash that sprung open under his left eye. His face was well on its way to being a disaster. They were on the dirty ground yet again and the second man was clearly winded from all the hauling and abuse that he was taking himself. The first man clearly had no sympathy though and merely re-adjusted his blood-stained gloves, working them to a taut fit over his monster-sized hands, making them ready to dole out more punishment. It was just a satisfying job to the first man and he took his job with the utmost seriousness. He stood over the two of them on the ground and proudly was pleased with what he had accomplished so far, as if he were an artist checking his work.

Man number two had Mark's blood spattered on his own face, as well as on his clothes and just as he thought that this curly-headed man's torture was going to be over, the first man spoke up again. He took a couple of labored breaths of his own as he listened as the giant began to speak again. He couldn't help but wonder how much more of this beating this guy to his side could possibly take.

"Time for some body shots now. Get him back on his feet."

"Manny, he's just about dead now."

Manny ignored the comment, he'd heard his accomplice say the same thing the dozen or so times they'd done this sort of thing already. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles for each of his hands. They were extra large to fit over his gloved fingers. He slid them on and took a practice hit with each one into his own fists. "Get him up," he repeated.

"I thought this was supposed to be a message. If he's dead, what good is that gonna do Manny? We're not supposed to kill him." The second man asked as he hauled himself and Mark back to an upright position. He let out a groan as he fell back over with him. Manny reached down and plucked them both from the dirty ground and heaved them both up to a standing position as if they were two rag dolls. "Thanks Manny," the second man said sarcastically. "You know, you could just do this without me. I don't need the workout like you apparently do. The guy's dead, look at him."

McCormick's head was a bloodied and bruised mess already. His mouth hung open awkwardly as he fought unconsciously to stay alive under this brutal assault he was under.

"He's not dead and he's not gonna die. I know what I'm doing. How many times have I done this before? You've seen it dozens of times, quit trying to break my concentration, I live for this sort of thing, you know that?" He spit off to the side, just as a repulsive reflex. "Now get him up a little straighter and keep him up for some consecutive body blows. Nothing like getting in a little body work while I can. There's not much meat on his bones, but he'll do good enough for today. And remember, every time you fall over with him, it breaks my rhythm." He followed it with a sadistic laugh and added, "And if you do fall over with him, he's gonna get it even worse. I'm gonna have to keep up these body blows till I'm satisfied with my workout and that means you need to stay on your feet with him in tow, you got that Billy boy?"

"I'm trying Manny, Lord knows I'm trying." Billy boy raised up Mark's arms, giving Manny clear access to his body, and said in a low voice into McCormick's ear, "sorry about this man, but I've already tasted what this lunatic can do, I just gotta do what he asks. No one can stop him when he gets like this."

Manny began to pummel McCormick's ribcage, kidney area, chest and abdomen with blow after punishing blow, with each shot increasing in strength and velocity. With each blow, McCormick's abused body let out gasping, draining breaths. Manny let out a wicked laugh as his cohort was doing his part in staying on his feet as he landed fist after fist against McCormick's broken body. McCormick's body became a mere body bag in a neighborhood gym, taking in one punishing blow after another. It was moving from beyond torture to downright sadism. "Nice job Billy boy, just hang with me, we might be almost there. This is so good, I like it when you listen, see how much easier," Manny grunted, "it makes this," he grunted again, "easier," he smashed into McCormick's kidney area, "for all of us," letting out a final groan as he smashed a combination round of fists into McCormick's abdomen. Mark had let out painful cries and moans all along, but as Manny worked in a furious final frenzy, all the sounds and grunts coming from him ceased. "Ain't that right curly-headed man?" He asked of the unconscious Mark, taking a momentary break to go over to Mark and pick up his head and look at the damage he'd already caused. Using his other hand, he pulled back the lid over one of Mark's swollen eyes to check to see how it looked. "He's not talking? Go figure. His eyes tell me he's just about had it, guess I need to think about stopping before he up and dies on us. We can't have that happening. Man, that was fun! Too bad we gotta leave a message. I'd just as soon kill him right now, this is what it's all about for me." Billy boy was ready to fall over with McCormick, he'd certainly had enough too. Manny could have cared less one way or another. "Let me just finish up with a nice flourish downstairs." He stepped back and threw one more vicious left hook again into his ribcage and both Billy boy and Manny heard the crack of at least one of McCormick's ribs. "Yeah, good shot there, fractured for sure, maybe even shattered," Manny sadistically said, as he clocked off another rapid flourish of blows on McCormick's right side.

Manny stopped momentarily to adjust his gloves and as he did Billy boy heard an odd intake of air come from the mouth of McCormick. "Manny, come on, he's about done for sure. His breathing is sounding funny. I think it's enough man. I've heard that sound before and it's never been good."

"Yeah, I know, I heard it too and that's too bad, it was just starting to feel really good, like the kind of workouts I use to have. This guy held up better and longer than most," he showed a brief, wicked smile. "God, I love that cracking sound. Pick up his face once more Billy boy. I'm gonna send him off with this left hook of mine. It's so sweet today, it's like honey in a bee's nest." He raised his left hand to his own mouth and kissed the brass knuckled leather, tasting the blood of McCormick that was imbedded on it. There was that sick laugh once more, "Pick up his head," he shouted.

Billy boy didn't want to, but he knew if he didn't Manny would do the same thing to him that he was doing to McCormick. He had the scarred up face to prove it to from two years ago when he had been first teamed up with Manny and he begged him not to hurt the man they were paid to torture. After Manny took care of the victim, he lashed out his anger at his new partner's lack of obedience. His message was clear on that day and from then on. Manny was in charge, so Billy boy either did what he was told or he'd wind up like these poor, slob victims. Billy boy chose to go along with Manny. He grabbed another handful of Mark's hair and waited. He heard that sickening air intake sound again from McCormick, as Manny finished off the body blows with a dastardly combination and then wound up smashing his left hook onto the right side of McCormick's already bruised and bloodied face. The force from this final agonizing blow sent Mark and Billy boy sprawling against the powder blue body of the nearby Mustang. Mark's blood spattering across it one final, vicious time.

"Let's get out o' here," Manny said, calmly removing the brass knuckles and putting them back in his pocket and then reaching down to the ground, he picked up his initial weapon, the led pipe. "Can't leave any evidence now can we?" He started walking away.

Billy boy stayed on the ground for an extra second, trying to regulate his own breathing and turning away from the nearly lifeless body beside him. He hadn't seen Manny ever work someone over this badly ever before. Even being the bag behind the punching bag was painful. Manny was merciless and violent when it came to punishing people, there was no doubt about it. He was the only guy he'd ever know who actually took pride and pleasure from dolling out this sort of sadistic torture. He looked over at the mess that Mark McCormick had become and shook his head and mumbled to him. "I don't know what message that Judge guy is going to get from all of this, but damn kid, if you survive this beat down, you deserve some sort of medal. I'm sorry Manny took it out on you, but you'd be best to let that Judge fellow know not to upset anyone ever again." Billy boy sat up and watched Manny walk away. He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a regular white envelope. It was his final duty on this caper. On the front it merely had typed out, JUDGE MILTON C. HARDCASTLE. Something was inside but the envelope was sealed. Billy boy took the envelope, folded it half and stuck it in the right, front pocket of McCormick's jeans. McCormick made no movement or sound as Billy boy slipped the note into his pants. "Have a wonderful life there guy, whatever's left of it," he said, getting to his feet and trotting off to catch up with Manny.

OOOOO

Gino Moretti shuffled his way through his auto graveyard, chattering all the while with Bart Andrews about the history of muscle cars, as he took a breath and added, "I got a feeling I know just where he is and what he found. The engine's from a '65 out here, but with a couple of modifications, she'd fit just right in your baby. Follow me."

Bart Andrews chuckled and listened as Gino just kept talking.

"Knowing old Skidder, he's probably trying to pluck that sucker out of there all by himself. I bet he found an old screwdriver and is back here trying to take it apart one bolt at a time. I just didn't have the heart to send him straight to this car. I mean half the fun of the junkyard is coming across the perfect piece of junk on your own, right? And Skid always loved hunting in here. Yeah, I'm sure he's back here. You'll take a look at the engine Bart, and if it's what you want, I'll fire up the crane and we'll scoop it out for you. Yep, you could have your baby out on the road by the end of the week. You found a real pro in Skid. He sure knows his way around an engine, too bad you never saw him race, cuz he's an even better driver! Sometimes I wonder if old Hardcastle knows what a special kid he's got living out there. It's just down this next row," he pointed. Gino continued to banter as he led Bart down the tight row of cars. He suddenly stopped talking and walking for a moment as he saw Mark lying in a heap just to the right of the powder blue Mustang body. "Oh dear God, what the hell happened? Mark? Mark?" Gino called out. There was no movement or an answer. Gino forgot all about Bart behind him and started jogging, then sprinting toward where Mark lay.

Bart peered ahead when he heard Gino and also saw Mark's body, not moving. He ran quickly to catch up with Gino. "What happened?" Andrews asked as he ran.

Mark's body was twisted awkwardly, mostly facing downward, but his head was bent slightly crooked, leaving his face gazing skyward, and with blood still oozing out from where he had been clocked in the back of his head with the pipe. His breathing was jagged and rough sounding. Gino dropped to both knees beside him, afraid to even touch him, yet wanting to provide him with some comfort. He called out his name a few more times and he got no response from McCormick. He murmured a few words of broken Italian as he heard Bart come up next to him.

Andrews took a brief look and gasped and momentarily looked away from Mark's battered face and body. In all his years, Bart had never seen anything quite so gruesome looking.

"He needs to get to the hospital quick," Gino was saying, still fearful of moving McCormick or even touching him. A few tears fell from his own eyes as he went back to speaking in Italian.

"Um, yeah, what do you think happened Gino? Something fall on him?" Bart didn't know what else to say. The shock to both of them was evident.

"No, nothing fell, no car, someone did this to him," Gino said. "He's been attacked, can't you see that? He needs help!" Gino was frantic.

"Well, there's no one else out here but the three of us, how could that happen?"

"I don't know, maybe someone climbed in from the back end of the lot. I got a fence back there, but if someone wants to get in here, they can. Maybe he surprised someone. It doesn't matter now, he needs to get to the hospital."

Bart scanned around for any sign of movement. "I don't see or hear anything. This couldn't have happened too long ago."

Gino angrily brushed him off again. "None of that matters now, we need to call police and an ambulance for Mark right away. You go back to the office Bart and hurry okay? I'll stay here with him. Hurry, we can't waste no more time. Go on now!"

Bart shook his head, trying to make some sense of this violent act. "Yeah, yeah I'll do that, I'll call Hardcastle too. He's going need to see this," And he turned and ran back toward the office area.

Gino leaned over Mark, trying to offer some sort of comfort and said, "I don't know who did this to you Mark or why, but we'll take care of you now. We're getting some help for you right away. Just hang in there boy, don't you worry about a thing."

Bart came sprinting back. "Cops and paramedics are on their way. Should we try to get him over on his back?" He leaned over and tried to take a closer look at McCormick.

"I don't want to chance injuring him any more than he already has been. He's having a hard time breathing and look at the gash on the back of his skull? Oh dear heaven, he might be dying," Gino asked and added, "I took off my jacket and set it back there, 'cause it's still bleeding. We gotta try to stop the bleeding right? The good thing is he's still breathing. Did you get hold of Milt?" Moretti was rambling on and on.

"I left a message, there was no answer. There's got to be something more we can do for him," Andrews wondered aloud

Gino looked away from Mark for a brief moment to eye up Bart. "We can pray, he doesn't look so good right now. I don't understand who would do this to Mark." He turned his attention back to McCormick and added, "There's a blanket in the office, maybe you should get that too. I sure hope the paramedics get here soon. His breathing sounds awful strange."

"I'll get the blanket," Bart said, dashing back to the office once more.

Between Bart and Gino it was hard to imagine who had more questions about this whole situation. Their shock and concern and worry for Mark's survival was at the pinnacle right now, but they both felt nearly helpless as they knelt beside him waiting for professional help to arrive. And the thing that got to both of them was that neither of them had seen or heard anything.

"Don't worry Mark, we're going to get you to the hospital and we'll get hold of the Judge just as soon as we can. Just rest easy here son," Gino kept offering Mark comfort, even though he was unconscious. "You got nothing to worry about, no ones gonna hurt you anymore while I'm around."

Off in the distance Gino began to hear sirens. He hoped for Mark's sake it was the paramedics and not the cops. He looked back toward the office to see if he could recognize what it was, but it was no use, there were too many cars in the way.

Bart came back with the blanket and with two paramedics. He handed the blanket down to Gino, who quickly laid it over McCormick's body.

"What have we got?" Paramedic Ted Stanton asked.

"We're not exactly sure what happened, neither of us saw or heard anything, but we think he was attacked and beaten up, by some sort of intruder perhaps," Bart offered. "We just found him out here like this about ten minutes ago."

Paramedic Ty Forrest moved in closer and started to access the injuries. "We better get a backboard and a collar Ted. This looks really bad. His face and torso have been bludgeoned. Pulse is 70, respiration is shallow and thready."

"I'll go grab the equipment," Ted responded.

"Excuse me sir, let me get in there where you are and get to work," Ty said to Gino, scooting down so he could gain better access to treat McCormick.

"Sure, sure," Gino said, rising to his feet and stepping out of the way. "His name is Mark McCormick."

"Thanks, we'll take care of him now, sir." Ty Forrest moved in and got right to work. He first looked over the gash on the back of Mark's head and removed the jacket and set it off to the side. Reaching into his own jacket pocket, he pulled out several sealed up sterile gauze pads and opened them up and gently placed them over the wound and taped them lightly into place. "I have a feeling that gash is the least of his problems, but I got wait till my partner gets back before we try to move him. I don't want to risk any sort of neck or back injury," the young paramedic explained to them.

Gino nodded and said, "We didn't want to move him either, not wanting to hurt him any further either. We felt pretty helpless. You fellas sure got here quick though. Thanks be to God for that. He's in real bad shape huh?" Gino sort of rambled.

"And you don't know what happened to him?"

"No sir, me and Bart, that's the other guy, we were back there in the office and Mark here was out here in the yard looking for parts. We came out to find him and that's when we saw him here, just like this. Looks like to me that someone beat him within an inch of his life. Someone might have come over my back fence, it's happened before, you know like a robbery or something, that's the best I can figure. Nothin' like this has ever happened though. No one's ever got hurt, they just take parts. They all but killed him, I don't get it, what is the world coming to?"

Ty checked McCormick's extremities for any broken bones, but didn't find any. Ted finally came running back with a backboard and c-collar and another carrier with even more equipment.

"What have we got Ty?" he asked his partner.

"Looks like a brass knuckles beating. He's got a wide open cut on his cheek that has all the markings of brass knuckles. And another gash on the back of his head, not sure what caused that. That looks like some sort of blunt object though. Let's get the collar on and then get him over on the backboard then we can check him out a little more closely."

"Sounds good, easy going there fella, we're gonna take good care of you," Ty said to McCormick as they began to treat him. The two paramedics worked in quiet unison, carefully putting the cervical collar around Mark's neck and then maneuvering the backboard in a spot that they could easily roll McCormick over and onto.

Meanwhile back at the entrance to the used car parts lot, the police began to arrive and Bart Andrews was quick to direct them to where McCormick lay. As they walked back to the spot, Andrews began to tell as much as they possibly knew about what happened and about what he and Gino speculated.

Ty and Ted had McCormick secured on the backboard and they began to check over the rest of Mark's body for injuries. His head was a mess, bloodied, bruised and swelling up from the blows that had been inflicted. As they worked to gauge his vital signs, both of them were relieved for him that he was unconscious as they observed just how badly he'd been beaten and could only imagine the pain he would be in if he was awake.

Ty began to check his chest, ribs and abdomen and could tell that there were several broken ribs on both sides. "I'm gonna open up his shirt Ted, I think he might have some severe internal injuries." Ty pulled out a pair of scissors and cut open the t-shirt that McCormick wore as he did Ted look down at his battered torso. Deep colored bruises had already formed, indicating where the worst blows had been inflicted.

"My God, what did they do to this guy?"

"I don't know Ted, but let's get that IV started and get him to the hospital right away"

Ted nodded and they went back to their task and prepared Mark for a ride to the hospital.

Gino and Bart watched the two of them work on McCormick, neither of them knew what they could possible say about the whole situation. They felt guilty and responsible for not realizing what was happening to him out in the yard while they simply sat and chatted in the office. The uniformed officers came toward the two of them and began to ask questions.

"This is Judge Hardcastle's McCormick?" one of the officers asked recognizing the name?

"Yeah it is," Gino replied. "We haven't been able to get in touch with Milt though. We need to let him know, he'll be devastated by this and he'll want to be with him."

"The Judge was down at the station," the officer replied, "I'll radio in and if he's still there, we'll advise to meet at the hospital." And off the officer trotted to notify Hardcastle.

OOOOO

Inside the ambulance, Mark began to have a seizure. Ted called into the hospital immediately to alert them about this new symptom and was instructed to add another medication to the IV to stop the brain and body seizure, the doctor also sent along with a request….to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. Time was critical right now.

The two paramedics turned a normal 18 minute ambulance ride into a 10 minute all-out emergency ride as Ted and Ty pushed the gurney through the emergency doors and followed the nurse's direction on which trauma room to enter.

"He had another mini-seizure right after the first, but it subsided in less than twenty seconds, I think the medication may have helped," Ty said as he led the gurney down the hall.

"Got a new set of vitals?" The nurse asked as she rushed beside them as they moved into the emergency room. Mark began to seize again. "Let's go fellas," she said, as the three of them began sprinting in the hallway toward the trauma room.

Ted began to call out the numbers from behind her and he added, "We think he may have a possible pneumothorax on his left side. He's not moving much air."

"We need to stop this seizure first," she said, upon entering the room. She let the staff know what had just happened and then the nurse nodded her understanding of the vitals and the possible pneumo as the three of them entered a bustling trauma room. Someone injected another dosage of anti-seizure medication into his IV and the staff quickly and efficiently moved McCormick from the portable gurney to the stationary gurney in the middle of the room as they each began to go about their assigned tasks. It was just a matter of moments until he began to stop seizing. One staffer began a blood draw, another started to access his body injuries, while another check his facial injuries and so on. Another doctor came in and started calling out test orders as the rest of the staff in the room began to reassess and report all of Mark's injuries.

"Let's get a CBC, Chem 7, Urinalysis, and get x-ray in here stat to see where abouts we can start to heal this man," the doctor said. "I want a full skull, full chest and full abdomen series pronto and call down to CT and have them on standby too. And let's hook him up to a heart monitor. Any more seizures?" He called out to the paramedics.

Ted told them all again of the short one in the ambulance just after the administration of the drug to prevent it.

"Okay, well that's a step in the right direction, any signs of consciousness or arousal?"

Ty chimed in "No, not at all."

"Alright guys, we can take it from here."

Ty and Ted gathered up their portable equipment and made their way back into the hallway and as they exited, coming from the other direction was Milton Hardcastle. The Judge walked up to the two of them right off and began to speak. "Did you fellas just bring in Mark McCormick?"

"Yes sir," Ty answered.

"How's he doing?" Milt asked, not having been given a full report of the assault.

"Um, we're not really at liberty to say sir," Ted explained. "You'll have to check with the receptionist."

"I'm Judge Hardcastle, McCormick works for me, I just thought you could give me an idea. The cops said he got beat up?" Milt asked and watched as the two paramedics kept fairly tight-lipped. He began to realize that it was more than just a bloody lip and a black eye. "Just how bad is he? I got the call at the police station and came right over. Is he what, unconscious? Critical?"

"I'm sorry Judge, we really can't give you that information. He's alive though, I can assure you of that."

"Do you know what happened?"

"It appeared to be some sort of a fight, but the cops are still trying to piece everything together," Ted began, "Your employee took a real bad beating I'm afraid."

"Worst I've ever seen," Ty added.

"Did they catch who did this?"

"No sir, I don't believe so," Ty said, "Nobody saw or head anything and whoever did it was long gone by the time we arrived on the scene."

"I don't understand," the Judge said. "He was looking for car parts. Who would hurt him for that? What about the guy that was with him?" Milt began to toss out all the questions he had absently.

"Mr. McCormick was the only one injured that we know about Judge Hardcastle," Ty answered. "The other two guys at auto yard were just fine, they were the guys who found him."

"I'm sure the police and the doctors will come and talk to you soon Judge," Ted replied. "We need to get going."

Milt absently nodded his understanding and walked away from them and toward the emergency reception area. He glanced around to see if he could spot Bart Andrews or the guy from the auto yard, Gino someone, but he didn't see either of them, which he thought was unusual, but maybe they were both still at the salvage yard talking with police. His questions were endless.

"Excuse me Miss, I was wondering if you could tell me the condition of Mark McCormick," he said.

The receptionist looked up from her computer and smiled. "He's just been brought in sir, the doctor is still in with him, evaluating his injuries. Are you his father?"

"Not exactly," he paused and added, "Friends, uh he lives with me, closest thing to family," he cleared his throat and stopped explaining. "Say, listen please let me know when I can speak to the doctor," the Judge said in reply. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he just turned around and went to take a seat in the waiting area.

It was a long, impatient wait for the Judge. He still wondered where Bart or Gino were. He had way too many questions and no answers, other than the little bit of information that the two paramedics had given him and from their report it sounded as if McCormick was in bad shape.

Another half hour passed by. He got up and checked on McCormick's status but the receptionist still didn't have any information to give him. He went back to the seat he had vacated but he didn't stay there for long. He stood up and started pacing up and down the long hall.

After about of hour of sitting, waiting, pacing and checking, Frank Harper walked in the emergency room area. The Judge was sitting down at the time. "Milt, any word on Mark's condition yet?"

Milt looked up from the magazine he was absently paging through. "Frank? What are you doing here?" The Judge dropped the magazine and stood up, "I don't know anything at all. I don't know how he is or what happened. Do you know something? What can you tell me?"

"Well, I'm a little sketchy yet on what happened myself, I was out running down a witness on a case I'm on, and I heard the call on the radio, I came over here as soon as I could. We got a whole team down at the auto yard checking it all out. At first they thought maybe he interrupted some sort of robbery, but the initial report is that someone or a group of people beat the living hell out of him. That's what the officers on the scene reported. It sounds more like some sort of vendetta or message than a robbery gone bad, from what the cops and the paramedics reported. The auto yard owner, some guy named Moretti is reporting that nothing is missing. What was McCormick doing down there?"

"Helping out a friend of mine, a guy named Bart Andrews, They went to get some parts for an old car of his, McCormick's gonna help him fix it up," the Judge explained. "What kind of robbery suspects would do something like this? They usually don't go after someone for no good reason."

"It's just a preliminary investigation right now Milt, maybe someone's been following Mark?" he suggested. "Maybe someone he was in prison with, who got out and went after him for some revenge."

"What? Did they catch anyone? Do they have some suspects?"

"No, by the time they found Mark, there was no one around."

"Ah, McCormick didn't have any enemies in prison. He's not that kind of a guy Frank, he's a smart mouth, he tries to get along with everyone. You know that. I don't understand any of this Frank. All he was doing was looking for car parts. It doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, we don't have much to go on yet, the owner and the guy that was with Mark apparently weren't with him when this happened. I was hoping McCormick was conscious and could tell us something, that's why I volunteered to come down here. I figured McCormick would be willing to talk with me."

"He's still in with the doc's. They haven't even told me anything yet. I don't even know what his condition is yet."

"Mind if I wait?"

Hardcastle shrugged and Frank sat down in a chair across from him.

Frank felt that he needed to keep talking. "We'll find out what happened Milt, don't worry about that."

"Oh I know that Frank, I'm just worried about the kid that's all."

Frank nodded, hesitated and finally asked, "Are you guys working on anything right now?"

"Us? No, we're between cases. That's why he was doing some work for Bart Andrews, he's helping him restore an old Mustang. Why the heck weren't those guys with him?"

Harper shook his head, "I don't know Milt, but I'll question them myself right after we find out about Mark, we'll get to the bottom of it."

"I hate this waiting. And I hate having to explain that I'm not his father," Milt gestured toward the reception area. "Why can't they just come out here and tell us how he's doing? Does it look like he has any relatives that give a damn about him?"

"I'm sure they'll come out and talk to you just as soon as they can. You know how it is here in the hospital, red tape and the endless tests just to let you know you have a splinter," Frank tried to lighten the mood.

"I think this is more than a splinter."

"You want me to go explain things to them?" He asked the Judge, who shook his head no. "They'll be out soon Milt."

OOOOO

Finally a doctor came down the hall toward Milt and Frank.

"Hey, maybe we'll get some answers now," Harper said, reaching over and tapping Hardcastle on the knee. Both of them stood up.

"Gentlemen? You're both here for Mark McCormick?" the doctor began.

"Yeah, Lieutenant Frank Harper, LAPD, this is Judge Milton Hardcastle," Frank began flashing his badge and shaking the doctor's hand.

"Ah, is Mr. McCormick under arrest?"

"No," Frank explained, "I'm investigating the alleged assault. Judge Hardcastle is a good friend of Mark's, they work together and Mark resides at the Judge's estate. They're family," he simply explained, adding nothing else.

The doctor looked tired, but he nodded his understanding. "Mr. McCormick is in critical condition. I understand the police aren't entirely sure what happened yet, but it's obvious that he was beaten within an inch of his life. His injuries are very severe and were carried out with deliberate violence."

Frank interjected, "Was he able to fight back at all Doctor?"

"Not that we can tell, there are no marks on his hands, of either an offensive or defensive nature Lieutenant. So judging from that, the best we can tell is that he got hit from behind with something that fractured his skull, and split it wide open. It took 34 stitches to close it up. My guess would be that knocked him out and then they kept beating him after that. This was a well thought out attack."

"All this happened to him while he was unconscious?" Frank asked, sickened by the very notion.

The doctor nodded his agreement of Harper's impassioned question. "It appears to be that way, from how the blood collected on his body and from the nature of his injuries. This was a very calculated beating, whoever did this, knew exactly what to do to inflict the maximum amount of torture to him without killing him. It's very eerie actually to know just how much punishment a human body can take and be able to exact just such an amount," Frank turned away in disgust as he heard the doctor describe the nature of the assault.

The Judge shook his head in despair when he began to hear the news. "Well, how is he now?" the Judge asked, "Is he gonna survive?"

"He should, the paramedics got to him quickly and better still got him here, but it's too soon to say for sure. If he makes it through the next 24 hours, his chances will be better. Besides the skull fracture, he has some severe head trauma including a concussion, broken jaw and nose. His vision and hearing seem to be intact, but we really won't know until he wakes up, but our initial tests look good. He also has multiple broken ribs, a punctured lung and cuts, contusions and bruises so abundant that we lost count. We don't think he sustained any immediate critical internal injuries, but his kidney and liver are also bruised and we're keeping our eyes on those. We're moving him into ICU where we'll continue to monitor him."

"Is he conscious?" Frank asked, almost hoping for a negative response, which he received.

"No, and he hasn't been. That's our biggest fear right now that he might not ever regain consciousness, as I've stated, the next 24 hours are critical. With head trauma so severe, you just never know."

"Can I see him Doc?" Milt asked.

"Once we get him settled, I'll have the nurse come and get you. Does he have any other immediate family to contact?"

"Um, just his father, but I'm not sure how to reach him, they really don't have much contact," the Judge explained.

"Well, I'll leave it up to you whether to find and contact him. I'll check back with you later and give you an update on his condition."

"Thanks Doc."

Milt sat back down in stunned sadness and anger. His head was filled with all sorts of crazy images of what McCormick looked like after all this had happened to him and then he began to wonder if his imaginings would really be all that far off. The doctor had listed off a litany of injuries that could only make Milt wonder who would do such a viscous and hateful thing and why? He racked his brain trying to think of cases that he and McCormick had worked on, that could possibly have been the driving force behind this attack. He let out a deep breath, not realizing that Frank was still standing nearby, probably in shock as well.

Both men had looks of intense sadness and endless questions on their faces.

Frank finally turned and took the seat across from Milt again. "Hey, the good thing is that he's still alive Milt. McCormick's a pretty tough kid, I'll put my money on him pulling through this."

Milt gave a half a nod. He was at a loss for words. "I suppose I should try to track down Sonny."

"Nah, let me do that, you just stay put right here. I got a whole police force that can get to work on that."

"I appreciate that Frank," Milt began, "I think I heard McCormick say he was still on the east coast somewhere. Maybe Atlantic City again, or New York, I can't remember."

Frank tried to lighten the mood. "Hey, how many Sonny Daye's can there be. Don't worry about that, we'll find him. You want some coffee or something while we wait?"

Milt shook his head no. "Part of me wants to find out who did this, and do to them what they did to him," he paused for a long moment, "and part of me doesn't care. I just want him to be all right. None of what we do is worth this. It's senseless, if this is some sort of payback or revenge, it's just sickening."

"I'm gonna put a man outside his room, just in case someone comes back to try to finish off what they started," Frank added.

"I can't imagine why anyone would do this to him." Milt leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

"Milt, are their any cases from the past that you guys worked on that you could somehow tie into something like this?" Frank began.

"Everyone we've gone after is still serving Frank. I keep tabs on all of them. Believe me, they're all rolling around in my head right now, but nothing is coming up as a match."

"I know, but maybe someone on the fringe, somebody that slipped through the cracks…"

Milt interrupted and finished, "Someone who'd want to beat the living tarnation out of him as some sort of sport? No, I'm drawing a blank Frank. No one fits that MO. But then again, I'm not thinking so clearly right now. I'll check my files just as soon as I can."

A nurse walked up to them carrying an envelope. "Judge Hardcastle?"

The Judge sprung back up in a flash, "Yes, can I see him?"

"Um, not just yet sir, but the doctor asked me to bring this out for you and perhaps the Lieutenant as well. This fell out of Mr. McCormick's pants as we were gathering up his things to transport him to ICU, and as you can see, it has your name on it." She held out the envelope for him. "The doctor thought it might be of some help for the investigation?"

Hardcastle set out his hand to grab for it. "Thank you, and please let me know when I can see him."

"Of course sir."

Milt sat back down and unfolded the envelope. Was this some sort of sick joke? His name was typed on the front. "What the hell is this? Someone left a note on him?"

"Open it up and read it."

Hardcastle tapped the letter down to one end on the side of the chair and then carefully tore down the side and pulled out the contents. It was also typed.

_Judge Milton C. Hardcastle_

_Let this be a message to you. Stay away from the things people love or you will reap what you yourself sow. Let McCormick be your final reminder, every time you look at him now, you'll see his battered face and body. It can be done again. He suffers the pain and the punishment physically and you get to suffer it emotionally. Remember it, always._

Milt reread it over again and thrust it over to Harper and mumbled, "A bunch of garbage, that's what that is." And he added, "Here's your answer, some sort of message to me from some coward."

Frank quickly read through the note. "Well, maybe it's a step closer to finding out who's responsible for this."

"It doesn't say anything Frank. I didn't need some stupid typewritten note to tell me how to feel about all of this. If I'm a threat to someone, they should come after me and leave McCormick out of it."

"Fair enough Milt, but obviously they knew doing this to McCormick would get to you, which it has, so does that sound like anyone you might know?"

Hardcastle nearly snarled, "Sounds like _all_ the lowlifes I've run across. None of them have any real guts." He stood up from the chair and took a few steps away from Frank. "I can't think about any of this right now Frank, I got too many other things on my mind."

Harper didn't need to ask him what those other things were. And they weren't 'things.' Mark McCormick's life was what was on his mind, and rightly so. "I'll have the lab guys dust the letter and the envelope for prints, just in case, maybe they can get a partial off of it or something."

The Judge turned back to look at Harper and nodded, forcing an insincere smile. "I need to take a walk," was all he said as he straightened around and went down the hall away from the waiting room. Frank went off to make a few calls to get the ball rolling on the assault.

OOOOO

Nearly two hours later a nurse finally came back to the ER waiting area and told the Judge and Frank that they could follow her back to the ICU area where Mark was now settled in.

"Has there been any change?" The Judge asked her.

"No sir, he's still in a coma, and he's had no more seizures over the last hour or so."

"Seizures?" Milt's voice was surprised and with a strained tone he questioned. "He's having seizures?"

"Yes, he's had several since his admittance, it's not entirely uncommon with the type of head trauma he's had, but the fact that they've diminished in number and intensity is a very good sign."

"What are his chances?" Hardcastle asked her as they walked to the ICU unit.

She gave him a smile, "The doctor can tell you that better than I can. I can only suggest that you try to be as positive around him as possible, that's been known to do the most good, both for the patient and for the loved ones too." She paused as they entered the unit. "You're both free to utilize the waiting room and I'm sorry Lieutenant, but the doctor has only authorized the Judge to visit with him and only for fifteen minutes at a time, every hour."

"I understand, I'll wait out here Milt, I'll get that police guard set up." Tell Mark I'm pulling for him, okay Milt?"

The Judge gave him a tiny nod. Frank went off to find a phone, while Milt continued to follow the nurse back to Mark's private room on the unit.

She opened the door to allow Milt to pass her. "It's okay to talk to him too, remember stay positive."

With that she held the door for him and let it close gently behind her. Milt stood at the doorway for a moment, collecting himself and trying to think of positive things to say. From there in the doorway, at first glance, the kid didn't look so bad. He knew he had to move in closer and see the extent of injuries for himself. He braced himself for the worst. As he stepped forward, he took note of the monitors, wires and tubes all connected in some way to McCormick and made a quick scan of his head and face, which even though was partially bandaged up in spots, still revealed enough of the merciless beating, even from several feet away. Hardcastle momentarily turned away and collected himself. It was every bit as brutal as he'd been imagining. Milt turned back. Mark's exposed facial flesh was no longer flesh toned, replaced instead by swollen, darkened, reddish purple skin tones. He had to look away once again, and swallow hard. It was right then he decided the most important thing he could do for McCormick was to be himself. If he was anything other than that, even an unconscious McCormick would see right through it. That's how well he and the kid knew each other, he was sure of that. Positive was one thing and he could do that for sure, but anything over the top saccharin , no deal, McCormick would never go for that.

He let out a deep breath and scowled up his face and took the final steps toward the bed. The kid was so still and so very silent. "What'd you go get yourself into this time kiddo?" he asked, taking a closer look at the bruised, bloodied, and battered face of his young friend. "You look like hell right now you know? You've been playing gorilla ball without me or what? I know, that was a stupid thing to say. The upside is that you can get better and that everything can heal up. The doctors and nurses are taking good care of you and they say you're toughing it all out, getting stronger by the minute. And that's what you need to do right now, just hang in there and do whatever they tell ya. So it's okay that you just sleep for awhile and rest and when you're ready to wake up, you'll do that too. I'll be around here too if you need anything, only thing is I can't stay in the room, not yet anyway, but if you wake up and ask a nurse, they'll come get me right away. I promise ya I'll stay in the hospital." Milt stopped talking and waited for some sort of answer which didn't come. He stared at the kid's face, virtually unrecognizable and could feel the vengeance that began to build up in his gut. Why in the world did someone have to do this to McCormick? This was much more than a message, it was damn inhuman torture. Milt cleared his throat, sniffled a bit and started talking again, "Frank Harper is outside, said to tell you to get well soon, just like a greeting card," the corners of his lips turned up to a partial smile. "Once you wake up, he'll be demanding to see you to ask you all sorts of questions. And I know that's the last thing you'll want to do." He stopped talking and listened to the inane quiet of the room. The blips and beeps annoyed him more than anything. His eyes focused on the monitor of McCormick's heartbeat. It sure appeared to be steady. He couldn't say the same thing about his breathing, which sounded sort of wheezy to him, but the doctor had warned him that that would be natural for the first day or so. He blew out a deep exhale and tried to 'get used' to seeing McCormick this way, but it certainly wasn't easy. He turned his head back behind him and spied a chair. He stepped over to it and slid it closer to the bed and sat down. "Where's your manners kiddo? Making me stand up like that, when you could have invited me to sit down here. Well, it's okay, don't worry about it, I can only stay about fifteen minutes right now, but I'll be right outside if you want to talk, just remember that. I bet you're worried about how you look to these nurses, aren't you? Lemme just say that you probably should wait awhile before you try asking any of them out." It was back to that crazy silence again. Being Hardcastle wasn't an easy task at the moment, especially when he wasn't used to the silent McCormick lying in the bed. It was downright impossible. That blasted note that was tucked in the kid's clothes was right. He wasn't ever going to forget how McCormick looked right now and it was tearing at his own insides. Maybe he was angry the most at that; that the note was correct. "Damn it McCormick, who did this to you?" he asked in a whisper, shaking his head in despair. The blips and beeps took over the silence again. Milt sat quietly by his friend, thinking. Finally he slid his left hand in and laid it on top of McCormick's left hand as well. He patted it a couple of times as a tiny offer of care and compassion. He didn't know what else to do or say. He stared at McCormick's face and listened to the rhythmed cadence of the heart monitor. "That's it kiddo, just keep on ticking." Then he leaned to whisper to McCormick's ear, "I'm gonna find out who did this to you McCormick." Hardcastle didn't say another word.

Fifteen minutes must have passed because the same nurse came back into the room. "I'm sorry Judge, doctor's orders. But you can see him again in another hour or so, I'll come get you." She stood in the doorway and waited for Milt.

Without turning to look at her, he slid out his hand from the railings and sniffled a bit as he stood up. "I'll be back McCormick," he simply stated. Then he finally turned and walked toward the nurse. At the doorway he said, "Take good care of him."

The nurse smiled and gave him a pat on his back as he exited to the waiting room.

OOOOO

"How's he doing Milt?" Frank Harper immediately stood up as the Judge entered the ICU waiting area.

Milt shook his head. "He's critical. They beat the living hell out of him Frank," he paused and added, "You wouldn't even recognize him. He's in bad shape. I don't know. They're right, he might not make it out of this one."

Frank didn't know what to say at first. "Hey, McCormick's tough Milt, he'll pull through this."

"Looks to me like they might have used brass knuckles on him. One of the cuts on his cheek has got that look to it. And my guess would be that's what probably busted up his ribs too. I've seen what they can do to people."

"Yeah, the cops on the scene and the paramedics agree with you on that one. I made a few calls while you were in there," he explained, "We'll run that bit of information through the computer along with anything else we've got from the scene and maybe narrow down some suspects."

Hardcastle settled himself into one of the chairs. "You're not gonna have anything."

"You don't know that Milt, all it takes is one little clue, you never know what it might lead to."

"This is some sort of professional job Frank. It wasn't some accident or botched robbery, they were specifically looking for him, there's no doubt about that. Some perverted psychopath who gets his kicks by doing something like this. Whoever it is knows exactly what they're doing. They knew they'd get to me with this," he looked down at the floor.

Frank thought about what the Judge had said and felt he needed to comment, "McCormick's gonna be okay Milt. It'll be no time before the two of you are back out on the streets chasing down bad guys. Heck, I bet the two of you will probably get whoever did this, before us cops even have a clue. How many times has that happened over the years. You guys are good at this. McCormick's not one for laying around in a hospital bed you know?" Frank tried to laugh to help lighten the mood, thinking that would help.

Hardcastle began to shake his head. "He might not _make it_ Frank," the Judge emphasized. "Do you get it? You heard the nurse, he's been having seizures, he's in a coma. His head is," he paused, barely being able to get the words out, "all bandaged up, it's just bad. I can't even describe it Frank. And they've been politely avoiding saying anything about brain damage. That's a possibility too." He stopped talking and looked down at the ground, "He might never wake up from this Frank. Chasing after bad guys just doesn't seem all that important."

Harper scratched at the back of his head and sat back down. "I'm sorry Milt, I didn't mean to make that sound like it did."

The Judge waved him off right away. "Whatever I can do to help ya out Frank, you know I will."

"Let's go grab something to eat Milt, we'll just go down to the cafeteria. Officer Howard is right outside the unit, McCormick'll be fine. I'll make a call and see if we have anything new, come on."

OOOOO

The team of investigators that had gathered at Moretti's Salvage Yard, scanning and searching ever inch of the grounds for anything that might provide to be some valuable information regarding the attack. Right now the best they had come up with were two sets of foot prints near the back of the property. It appeared whoever the prints belonged to had scaled the eight foot cyclone fence. There was no activated alarm system in the yard, when Gino was open for business, which basically meant that just about anyone who could climb over the cyclone fence and take or do whatever they wanted to do and chances are no one would see or hear them. Whether or not the prints actually belonged to whoever attacked McCormick was not definitive, as they couldn't match the prints up to anything near where the attack had taken place, where the ground was littered with many different prints, due to the paramedics as well as Gino and Bart, who had initially come to McCormick's aid.

At the present moment, the best hope into finding the attackers was McCormick himself.

Gino and Bart spent several hours with the detectives going over ever detail they could singely and collectively recall, but neither man had seen or heard any part of the attack, they merely provided a timeline of sorts for the police to use. Both men came to the hospital to check on McCormick after they finished up with the police. They spoke to a somewhat detached Hardcastle and learned that there was no change in his condition.

The nurse finally came around and began to shag visitors out of the ICU waiting room. Bart Andrews was the first to go, saying that he'd be back to check on Mark, and he was followed by Gino, who reluctantly left only after offering to pay for Mark's medical bills. Moretti felt entirely responsible for the attack even after Hardcastle assured him that it wasn't his fault. Neither Andrews or Moretti were much of a help as far as trying to find out who attacked McCormick. Frank offered to give Hardcastle a ride back to Gull's Way, which Milt rejected. "I'm not going home," the Judge groused.

"Milt, the nurse said we have to leave."

"Then I'll find a waiting room that I can wait in. I'm staying here, I'm not going home."

"Getting yourself sick isn't going to do McCormick any good."

"How is staying in the hospital going to make me sick?" Milt shook his head with some disgust. "I'm staying here," he again stated, "Until I know he's gonna pull through this."

"Have it your way, I know I can't talk you out of it, so I'm not even gonna try. Call me if there's any change?" The Judge nodded.

OOOOO

The nurse tried one more time to convince Hardcastle to go home to rest, but the Judge would not have anything to do with leaving. Every hour on the hour he took his fifteen minutes and went in to Mark's room to wait beside him. It became what seemed to be an endless activity. Three days passed in the same fashion. No change. There were several notable advances made though. After those first few hours, Mark's seizures had stopped and on the third morning he was moved out of ICU and into a regular room. His vital signs all improved and became steady. Repeated brain scans showed normal activity. He however, remained in a coma.

A day and a half later another doctor suggested to Hardcastle that he should begin to consider some sort of facility for long-term care for McCormick. His vital signs were all starting to stabilize and his broken bones and wounds were all healing, yet he had still not shown any signs of coming out of the coma and once he healed up, the hospital would need to discharge him, regardless of coma, and yet he'd need 24 hour care. The suggestion alone stopped the Judge dead in his tracks. What was the doctor saying? That McCormick would never regain consciousness? Hardcastle was not ready to accept that, not yet, and God-willing, not ever.

"It's only been a few days Doc," Hardcastle began.

"Yes, I understand that Judge Hardcastle, however with severe brain trauma, we look for some sort of neuro response within the first 24-36 hours. Mr. McCormick hasn't shown any signs of response yet."

"Aren't there some sort of tests you can do or some medication you can give him?"

"We have," he paused, "Believe me Judge Hardcastle, we've done everything we possibly can for him. We all understand that he was viciously attacked, we've called in specialists to evaluate him and we are doing everything we can for him and we'll continue too as well. This isn't a decision that needs to be made right away, I'm merely suggesting that you might need to consider it down the road, if there's no change to his level of consciousness."

Hardcastle looked away and chose not to respond. He wasn't willing to think about that possibility yet.

OOOOO

It was coming up on midnight on Sunday evening and McCormick had had his share of visitors. By now word of his attack had spread around. Current friends as well as from his past had come to see him, some racing friends stopped to visit, along with some neighbors of Gulls Way, guys from the Police Force and even some lawyers and Judges had all dropped in to bring him good wishes. And through it all, he remained unconscious. Hardcastle was grateful for all their support. The kid probably had no real idea of just how many people cared for him. Frank however, hadn't been able to find Sonny yet and it didn't appear that he would be able to be tracked down.

At the end of visiting hours when everyone had finally left, the Judge took the, what was becoming a very familiar hospital chair and let out a sigh as he sat down. "Had a busy day today here McCormick. All sorts of people stopped in to talk with you. But you know what kiddo? They all expected you to talk back to them. We gotta do something to fix that. So whatta ya say McCormick? You gonna wake up and say something here pretty soon. The doctors said that you're getting better, but you need to prove it to all of us now. I would have thought after a week of this hospital, that'd you'd wake up for sure and want to get out of here and get home." He stopped talking and looked to see if there was any reaction. There wasn't. He noticed that some of the bruises and cuts on McCormick's face appeared to be healing up. The swelling had gone down considerably and McCormick actually was beginning to look like McCormick once again. Milt let out a deep, sad sounding breath. "I really wish you'd wake up kiddo."

All the visiting took its toll on Hardcastle though and now he drifted off. As the nurse shift changed, they entered the room and went about their duties, careful though, not to wake up the Judge as they moved about the room. Neither of the women had the heart to wake up Hardcastle as he'd virtually stayed in McCormick's room non-stop since he'd been brought into the hospital. They finished up their work and dimmed the lights and exited the room.

Not quite an hour later, Mark McCormick, unbeknownst to the Judge, began to display some signs of restlessness. He still remained in a coma, but he began to move his head from side to side as well as some twitching in his hands, fingers, toes and feet as he lay in the hospital bed. He was slowly starting to come out of the coma, even attempting to open his eyes, but without much success. His brain seemed to be having a delayed reaction to his own thoughts. And then a massive rush of brutal, punishing pain flowed throughout his head and he let out a moan.

It was the moan that Hardcastle heard and stirred him from the catnap he was taking. "What, huh?" he said to the darkened room as he began recall his surroundings. "McCormick is that you?" he called out as he stood up from the chair he sat in. Behind the hospital bed he remembered there was a light, so he went to reach for it to turn it on. He noticed the tiny movements that McCormick was attempting to make and at first he started to smile, but almost instantly he saw McCormick's face grimace and strain. Hardcastle reached his hand over and placed it on Mark's shoulder. "Hey McCormick, it's okay, you're all right, just relax. You're in the hospital. Rest easy there kiddo." He patted the kid's shoulder several times. With his other hand he reached and pressed the nurse's button. McCormick let another moan.

The nurse came in almost immediately. "Judge Hardcastle is there a problem?" she asked.

The Judge looked over toward her, "I think he's coming to."

The nurse came over to the bed and saw the restlessness that McCormick was displaying. "When did it start?"

"Not sure of that, I think I drifted off myself, but I heard him sort of groaning and it woke me up."

She smiled at him, "I'll get the doctor on call. This is a very good sign. I'll be right back." She left to get the doctor.

"Hear that McCormick, you're doing good. The doctor'll be right here." He glanced down at McCormick's face and the kid seemed to be trying to talk, but all that was coming out was some incomprehensible mumblings, even though his lips kept moving. "Don't try to talk kiddo, we'll have plenty of time for that later."

Just then the nurse came back into the room with the doctor. The doctor immediately went to the other side of the bed and started to perform some simple tests to attempt to draw McCormick out of the coma. "Mr. McCormick, can you open your eyes?"

Mark didn't appear to hear or to try to open his eyes at first, he turned his head away from the doctor's voice and mumbled again, no one understood what he was trying to say. The doctor repeated the same question, asking him to open his eyes. Nothing happened again.

The Judge stifled a smile. "McCormick, quit goofing off and open up your eyes for the doctor."

This time, even though he didn't open his eyes yet, he managed to mumble the word "eyes?" in a tired, questioning tone. He seemed to be responding only to Hardcastle's more recognizable voice.

"Yeah, your eyes, can you open 'em up for us," Hardcastle repeated.

Slowly, they sort of fluttered open for a brief couple of seconds and then just as quickly they closed again. And he murmured something that none of the three of them could understand.

The doctor looked over to Hardcastle. "That's a good start, he seems to understand what we're asking. And even better, he's trying to communicate back.

"That wasn't much of a try," Hardcastle answered, poised to keep after the kid to continue to try. "He can do better, can't ya kiddo?"

"Judge Hardcastle, trust me, this is remarkable, given all that he's been through this past week, we won't push him any more right now," the doctor explained. "It might actually be several more days before he really starts to come around. We'll just have to be patient."

"A few more days huh?" Milt asked, with a hint of frustration in his voice.

The doctor nodded, "Could be more, could be less. It's hard to know exactly what is going on his head and just how much it's healed up so far. Think of it as a defense mechanism. The pain he's experiencing is keeping him in the coma and allowing him time to heal the trauma he's suffered."

"I understand, I guess I just thought he was coming out of it now," Milt explained.

"In a sense he is, but it's not just going to be an instant thing," the doctor said again. "Believe me though, this is very good. You should be pleased." The doctor walked to the end of the bed and plucked a pen from his jacket and wrote down several comments and orders on McCormick's chart. After completing his instructions he looked over to the Judge. "You both should just get some rest now, I think you both can use it."

"Thanks doc."

Milt stayed with McCormick the rest of the night. There were no other lapses of partial consciousness for Mark and both of them slept.

OOOOO

The next morning, there was no change to McCormick's condition, so Milt decided to take a break and go get himself some breakfast down in the hospital cafeteria. As he exited Mark's room, Bart Andrews was coming down the hall toward him.

"Morning Milt, I thought I'd stop out and see how Mark is doing?"

"No real change, but he's showing some signs of coming out of the coma. It could be a few more days yet though according to the doctors, before we get any sort of idea of how well or how soon he'll recover."

"Has he said anything yet?"

"Nah, he's not making any sense at all, and certainly nothing about the attack?" Milt asked, "He only came to for a moment or two and he wasn't exactly carrying on a conversation. It's gonna be awhile according to the doctors."

"What about the police, have they gotten anywhere yet with any leads?"

Milt cleared his throat and shook his head no. "Listen, I'm going to get some breakfast, you wanna join me?"

Bart nodded, "Sure." The two of them headed down the hall toward the elevator. "I'm just wondering Milt, because I'd really like to see whoever did this to him get caught."

"Yeah, I agree with you. I know what you're saying Bart, but there's not a lot to go on. You and Gino didn't see or hear anything right?"

Bart reluctantly agreed, "And I'm sorry about that. If only I'd gone with Mark in the yard that day, well, maybe the two of us could have put up a better fight, you know."

"It's not your fault Bart, no one knew this would happen."

"Well still, I feel responsible, I really wish I could help out with the investigation in some way, but Gino and I, we didn't see or hear anything. It's like it happened right under our noses and we're just oblivious to it."

"Don't worry about any of that now, hopefully McCormick will be able to tell us what happened or who did it or the police will come up with something. We have to give it time."

Bart wasn't convinced, "Milt you and I both know the longer this goes without being solved the harder it's going to be to catch anyone. And there's no evidence. I just don't get it. Whoever did it was in and out without leaving any sort of mark. It doesn't seem right."

The Judge looked over at Bart suspiciously, "You're starting to sound like a cop Bart, not a sports agent."

That brought a smile to Bart, "Yeah, maybe I've been watching too many cop shows on TV or something." He let out a deep breath, "You're right, we gotta just pull together for McCormick right?"

"For now, yep, that's what we need to do."

OOOOO

The next several days passed, with the same sort of tiny 'steps' back into consciousness being taken by McCormick. The 'bouts' he was having became more numerous in frequency and lasted a little bit longer each time he became aroused. Most of the time he still simply repeated key words that were spoken to him or his own grumblings that never made any sort of sense. And by this time, his face was a bruised, darkened mess, the swelling had subsided. There was no doubt in Milt's mind that just from looking at his face, he could only imagine the pain and abuse his brain had taken, as well as his upper body. He came to agree with Mark's contingency of doctors who all concurred that the best way for him to begin healing was indeed staying in this coma, otherwise his pain tolerance in the conscious realm would most likely be unbearable.

Then one evening after visiting hours, Milt took the chair by McCormick's bed and swung it slightly around so that he could watch the TV that was in the room, but also so that he could keep his eye on the kid. He settled back and using the remote, he set the channel to watch "The Dirty Dozen" with Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson. It was about the closest he could come to a John Wayne movie for the night. And there was nothing like watching a bunch of tough guys track down some Nazi's. Just as the opening credits began to roll, McCormick began to exhibit his usual signs of semi-consciousness. Milt was quick to turn his attention from the movie to McCormick. "Hey McCormick, you gonna wake up a little tonight? Good timing, after all, all your visitors just left." He chuckled, "I know, you enjoy making me have to sit and talk with all your blonde bimbo girlfriends, we really need to discuss that sometime soon. Talk about torture. I wish I knew where you found some of these girls. Can you believe one of them actually asked me tonight why they called this place a hospital? How do you answer something like that?"

Milt watched as McCormick's eyelids fluttered open and close. He sure seemed to be trying hard to keep them open, but even Milt could see just from the tiny slits that McCormick wasn't actually focused on anything. The tiny part of his eyes had that Milt could see had that glassed over look. The doctors had assured him though just to keep conversing with him as he always had. Familiar things would be the best thing for him and offer him the most comfort as he worked to regain consciousness. "You missed Frank too, he stopped in to offer you some of Claudia's lasagna, but since you didn't answer him, he gave it to me instead. But don't worry, Claudia will make you more whenever you want."

McCormick's eyes continued to quiver and he lolled his head towards Milt's voice. The Judge kept talking. "See, the way I got this whole thing figured out is that one of these days you're going to realize just how hungry you are and that'll wake you up once and for all. Probably will eat me out of house and home then. Can't wait for that food bill," he said sarcastically. "I thought you already held the grocery bill record, but I think you'll completely shatter the world record after this ordeal." He sadly smiled as he watched his young friend continue to struggle. "Or maybe you'll get tired of me yapping at ya all the time. I know I sure am, it'd be nice to hear you say something for a change, good thing you don't really understand that yet though, gotta keep some secrets from ya." He stopped talking for a minute. "Got "The Dirty Dozen" on tonight. Yep, it's all about good guys taking down the bad guy's kiddo. You must have seen this one." Hardcastle couldn't bear to watch Mark fight against the coma as he'd done so many times over the past few days, so he turned his attention back to the movie.

He watched the movie for a few minutes as the plot began to grab his attention and he hadn't heard any sort of sound coming from McCormick, so he reckoned that he'd slipped back into unconsciousness. The TV station then broke for a commercial and Hardcastle turned to look at McCormick. What he saw amazed him. Mark's blue eyes were wide open now and staring directly at him.

The Judge's mouth fell open and he blinked his own eyes. "McCormick?"

There was no answer, just a blank sort of gaze, but he was obviously fixed on the Judge. His eyes were glassy and tired looking, yet unblinking.

"McCormick, how do you feel?" Surprised by his appearance, Hardcastle was suddenly running out of anything to say. For a split second he thought the worst and looked down at the kid's chest to see it rise and fall which it thankfully did. "McCormick, are you in pain? You're in the hospital. Do you understand?"

There still was no reaction to anything the Judge was saying. Milt started to wonder if McCormick could hear him or understand what he was saying. No, he reasoned, he knew he could hear and understand as he'd repeated things that he and the doctors and nurses would say. This was something entirely new and it was completely unnerving to him. He leaned forward in the chair. "McCormick, what is it? You know I never even try to read your mind," he offered up a joke with the tiniest hint of a smile. No movement or response of any kind. "Alright, that's it," he stated, getting up to a standing position, "I'm gonna get the nurse or the doctor, you're starting to scare me here."

Milt took a couple of steps away from the bed and as he did, McCormick blinked hard as if to muster up some strength. In a weak, strained voice he called out, "Judge?" The Judge barely heard him and thought maybe he was imagining things.

Hardcastle stopped dead in his tracks and then spun around. The first thing he noticed was that McCormick had shifted his head and still was focused on him, where he was now. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

That empty stare of McCormick's penetrated him and he went back to the kid's bedside. "Come on kiddo, I know you got another one in you, say it again."

Mark's head again tracked Milt's every move, as did his eyes.

"McCormick, come on, just once more, then you can rest, just let me be sure, say it again. Confirm what I think you said, come on McCormick, I know you think I'm crazy, but I don't think I was hearing things." He watched as the kid took in about as deep a breath as he could muster, given his broken ribs and injured lung. "Thatta boy sport, come on."

And then McCormick's lips parted, he blinked heavily and said it again, this time a bit stronger and clearer, "Judge." Then his eyes closed heavily and he drifted back off.

"That's it kiddo, just a little bit at a time, you'll be back in no time. Get some rest now." Hardcastle reached over the railing and gave the kid a pat on his hand.

OOOOO

The days passed with tiny triumphs like the one's McCormick had begun having. At first, he never spoke too much, instead he'd spend his awake moments with the piercing stare of his eyes, virtually emotionless, fixed on whoever happened to be in the room. As the days wore on, his consciousness level continued to increase, so that he'd be awake for longer stretches of time and the doctors began to think that he was simply falling into a deep sleep, rather than into a coma, again in order to let his battered body heal. He began to be able to become arousable. Things for him began to look on the up and up. He began to give one or two word answers to questions posed to him.

Hardcastle walked in early one morning and was surprised to see McCormick was already awake. "Hey kiddo, you're up already. How you feeling today?"

He watched as Mark took in a deep breath and was surprised that he was going to attempt to answer. "Better," an exhausted sounding Mark replied. He followed it up with a bit of an affirmative nod as well.

The nod was something new to Hardcastle, another sign that McCormick was improving. Up until now, he had been content to merely lie still, almost as if he was trying to let his brain and head heal, that any sort of activity to his head was entirely too taxing and way too painful. There was no way to ever really know for sure, but the doctors agreed that it would be best to let him come back gradually from the injuries he had sustained. But on this particular morning, McCormick just seemed to have improved by leaps and bounds and it gave Milt pause to smile, "Great, did you get some sleep overnight?"

"Some," McCormick said softly.

"Barbara didn't stay too late then huh?" Milt asked, recalling his visitor from the night before. This time all he got from McCormick was a long stare. He decided to keep talking himself, thinking the few words he had spoken were already a strain on him. "She said she had to be back up in Sacramento this morning, but knowing you, you probably talked her to death huh?"

"Yeah, must of," Mark replied. Hardcastle watched him and swore that he could see the sarcastic glimmer in his eye at the small attempt at humor. He wanted to say, "thatta boy," but he held his comment, keeping his happiness to himself. Even McCormick realized that he wasn't exactly a sterling conversationalist at the present time. And suddenly McCormick added and explained, "Left about nine."

Hardcastle was more than pleased that McCormick strung three words together, but now he really looked wiped out. Before Hardcastle could say anything, McCormick spoke up again.

"Hungry," he said in a somewhat demanding tone.

"I can believe that kiddo, but all we can get you is a protein shake, remember?"

"Yeah, mouth," he paused, "I know." His broken jaw had been wired shut, another painful result of the attack. That alone would make a ravenous eater like McCormick go particularly crazy.

"I can go get you a shake? Is that what you want?" Hardcastle left it out to dangle in the air. McCormick sort of scowled, but relented with a nod. "Chocolate again?" Hardcastle asked.

"Straw," was all that Mark could manage to think of. The rest of the word eluded him.

"Strawberry?" Milt finished the word for him and McCormick nodded, "Now that's something different for you. This from the guy who always pours garbage down his hatch at any chance he can get."

McCormick attempted a smile to no avail, "Fruit food group, can't always have junk."

The length and clarity of McCormick's response got a broad smile out of Hardcastle. "That was great kiddo. Let me go grab you one." Milt went out down the hall and asked at the nurse's desk if Mark could get a strawberry protein shake. The nurse said she'd have one brought up as soon as possible. Hardcastle went back in to visit with Mark.

McCormick was still awake when Hardcastle came back in and looked like he still wanted to talk and that's just what he did. "Wanna go home," he started. That stopped Milt dead in his tracks.

"How about we just try to get through breakfast right now kiddo?" Hardcastle asked. McCormick wasn't at all satisfied with the Judge's answer and he turned his head away on purpose to display his annoyance. The Judge decided he better try to explain. "Look sport, you just are coming out of being in a coma. You need to heal up a little more here in the hospital, where you can get the kind of treatment you need. You'll get home soon enough." Mark turned his head back and stared at Milt. He could see McCormick wasn't satisfied with his answer, so he added, "Listen, how about concentrating on sitting up in bed first? That'd be a step in the right direction."

McCormick's left hand reached over on the bed and fingered the bed remote, where he adjusted the angle of his hospital bed to a more upright position, and quietly he said, "Satisfied?"

Hardcastle shook his head and chuckled, "Not quite, but it's good to see that you obviously are getting your warped sense of humor and sarcasm back."

"Doc was here," McCormick began.

"Yeah, what'd he say?"

"Said head took a beating."

Hardcastle nodded, "Yeah, I told you that, do you remember?" They'd been telling him that he was attacked whenever he questioned why he was in the hospital, but beyond that they decided to keep the few specifics they knew from him for the time being.

McCormick shook his head no just as the nurse came in and brought in his shake. "Thanks," he said to her as she handed him the glass with a straw in it for him to drink. She quickly checked his IV and oxygen monitor on his finger and noted on his chart that everything was fine and then she promptly left. He took several sips from the strawberry shake and rested up, before beginning to talk to Hardcastle again. "So what happened? Can't remember." His short term memory was slowly coming back.

Hardcastle wanted to tell him that it was a good thing he couldn't recall the attack, given his present condition. The doctors had told him that Mark may begin to remember some things as his head and body trauma began to heal.

Right now, everything was blank. Mark was even having a hard time remembering things an hour later. The Judge had given the kid some of the specifics of the attack, but he was even having a hard time remembering what Hardcastle had told him. It took an incredible amount of patience on the part of the Judge as he spent most of these last few days repeating the same bits of information over and over. "Near as we can tell, you got attacked," he answered.

"Where were you?" McCormick asked, and that was another question Milt had answered too many times to count.

He tilted his head away and said, "I was at home, we weren't working on a case." Milt watched him closely and saw the confusion in Mark's face. He decided to shift the conversation for now. "Hey, finish up that breakfast," he advised, "Don't let all that good fruit go to waste."

Mark obeyed the gentle command and paused to intake some more of the protein shake. The Judge could tell though that McCormick's brain was busy trying to piece some memory together. "Why?" he asked him.

"What do you mean why? Why did someone attack you?"

Mark nodded, "Yeah, why attacked?"

"I don't know the answer to that one kiddo."

"Grudge?" He knew that he and the Judge had chased down a lot of people that would be more than happy to return the favor on them.

"It could be, Frank Harper is working on it."

"Who?"

"Don't know that answer either," Milt replied. "There's a lot of questions hanging out there."

"Witnesses?"

"Nope."

"Could be anyone, we don't make a lot of friends Kemosabe," Mark managed to get out slowly.

"Speak for yourself kiddo." The Judge teased.

"I mean work," McCormick replied, closing his eyes for a longer moment. Hardcastle could already tell that this morning's conversation was taking a lot out of him.

"Well you don't need to worry about any of that right now, it'll come back to you when you're ready."

"Should talk with Frank."

"And tell him what? You just said you don't remember anything."

McCormick closed his eyes again, this time he was frustrated. "Got to help cops."

"McCormick, they understand, you don't need to worry about any of that right now."

"_I_ want to know," he tried to emphasize the I.

"Listen Mark," Hardcastle began by using McCormick's first name, something he rarely did and McCormick immediately took note of it, "There are all kinds of questions that both you and I have," he sighed, "but believe me kiddo, it's a miracle that you're alive." It would be the first and only time that Milt would make such an emotional admittance like that that out loud. As he spoke the words, he made sure he wasn't looking at McCormick, because it was hard enough for Hardcastle to say it out loud, and he knew the kid was listening carefully to everything he said. He could feel him staring at him. The silence filled the room.

"I know," Mark said quietly. McCormick waited for Milt to finally look back over at him and Mark responded, "And don't call me Mark, makes me think I'm in trouble."

OOOOO

The next few days passed somewhat quietly as McCormick's condition continued to improve consistently, though he still had a problem with short term memory. And they finally got him up and moving, in and out of bed at first, then to a chair, where he could sit up for the better part of the morning and or afternoon and then eventually up and walking around the room and then up and down the hospital hall.

On his first excursion out on the ward, he walked along side Hardcastle and the moment he stepped out of the hospital room, he was surprised to see a uniformed police officer sitting outside. Ignoring seeing a cop standing guard at first, the two of them continued on with their short journey toward the elevator, but as soon as they got out of the officer's ear shot, McCormick instantly began to question Milt about the officer.

"What's that all about?" He used his head to motion backwards with his shoulder.

"Whatta ya mean?" Hardcastle asked.

McCormick stopped walking and looked back to the policeman. "Why is my room being guarded?"

"Oh that," Hardcastle turned back and nodded at Officer Howard, "he's just a precaution, no big deal."

"It looks like a big deal to me, no one else has a guard around here."

"McCormick, don't get all worked up over it. He's just there, that's it."

"You think someone is coming back to finish the job?"

"No I don't," Milt stopped and added, "But we're not taking any chances either."

"What aren't you telling me Judge?" He held out his hand and grabbed onto Hardcastle to stop him from walking.

The Judge stopped walking. "I've told you everything I know about the attack kiddo. We don't have much to go on, you know that."

"A guard?" McCormick asked again.

"Get over it, it's no big deal."

"Makes me feel like I'm under house arrest."

"Well, you're not, trust me, it's not to keep you in for a change, that should make you happy," Milt said with a chuckle, as they'd hit the end of the hall and turned around to come back to the room. "Can you make it back to the room or do you need to sit down and take a break?" He saw there was a chair near to where they were.

"I can make it." He slowed down almost coming to a complete stop, before forging onward. "Doc says I can go home in a couple of days," he added.

"Well, the guard is coming with," Hardcastle motioned toward Officer Howard.

"We don't need a police guard at Gulls Way, you'll be there."

"Except when I have to run out and get your protein shakes, that's why Officer Howard is coming along."

"I can go out and get my own protein shakes," McCormick fired back.

That comment got Milt to stop dead in his tracks. "Not till the doctor clears you to drive sport." He started walking alongside McCormick again, "And that's gonna be awhile yet. First you need to get back and forth to the bathroom on your own."

"I bet I'll be able to drive home from here," he said, attempting an awkward smile with a wired jaw. Hardcastle knew the kid was just egging him on.

"Then you might as well open up your wallet right now and give me the twenty, because that is not going to happen." They got back to the door of McCormick's room. "You want to go another lap? You known a hot shot race car driver like you ought to be able to do at least 250 of these without breaking a sweat?"

As much as McCormick wanted to, he was exhausted, "Nah, I think I'll sit down and chat with Officer Howard for a few minutes. We'll get to know each other."

Milt could see that the kid was worn out, so he put out his arm to guide him to the chair next to Officer Howard. Mark without admitting anything, was internally glad that he could lean on the Judge to help him get into the chair. He just didn't have enough stamina to make it back inside the room unless he took a break first. He was glad Hardcastle didn't say anything either.

Mark gingerly sat down, careful of his ribs and stuck out his hand to the Officer. "Hi, Mark McCormick, I hear you're going to be guarding me?"

OOOOO

Hardcastle drove the pick-up home, with McCormick in tow. The young man didn't complain too loudly about being the passenger, actually he didn't even broach the subject, as he knew he still had a long way to go to get back to full strength.

"Listen, I fixed you up a room in the main house, just till you can get around a little better, so don't even try to argue about it."

"Did you fix one up for Howard too?" McCormick sarcastically asked, as he turned and saw the unmarked police car with Officer Howard following behind them. "He'll need one too."

"Cute McCormick, but he's not going to be doing any sleeping when he's there, or his backup's either, when they're on duty out here."

They drove along in silence for a bit until out of the blue McCormick said, "I remember a blue Mustang." Hardcastle squinted as he focused on driving, wanting to allow the kid to recall his own memory. "I was at Gino's right?" Hardcastle nodded. "I haven't been over to see him in a long time. I can't figure out why I was by a blue Mustang though. None of those parts would fit in the Coyote or your truck. Maybe I was just admiring it, it was K-code engine, I remember that too, Ford didn't make too many of them." He stopped talking, not only to rest his tired and sore jaw, but to see if Hardcastle would fill in a blank or two for him.

"You've got it right so far, you were at Gino's and you found a blue Mustang."

"Can you give me a little hint here?"

"It's not going to do you any good for me to fill in all your details. The doctors want you to remember for yourself." He paused, chuckled and added, "Or did you forget that already?"

"Funny." He glanced out the window, "This is frustrating."

"Then think about something else, when your brain is ready, you'll remember."

"The Mustang was a '65."

Hardcastle peered over to him, "How the hell did you know that?"

"Had to be, that was the first year they made the K-code. It was a one of a kind, it would have caught my eye."

"You know, didn't they tell you that doing that was cheating? Nothin's wrong with your long term memory that's for sure." Hardcastle asked him. "Piecing together what you know with what you don't know is cheating though."

"Maybe I remembered that too," he raised his eyebrows.

"Or maybe you're merely guessing."

"Hardcase, I can't help it if I know cars and engines."

Milt knew if the kid could have mustered one of his dimpled smiles he would have. "It's cheating."

McCormick ignored Milt's latest comment and switched to another train of thought. "A blue '65 Mustang at Gino's. Maybe that engine was worth it's weight in gold and someone wanted it a lot more than I did. I never would have thought it would be worth getting beat up over though, but guys have gotten killed over a lot less than the price of an antique engine."

"Now I know you're guessing, but it's not about the car or the engine."

"Ha, maybe so, but now I know that it didn't have anything to do with the car or the engine, thanks Hardcase."

Hardcastle was irritated that he'd even given that little tidbit of information away, "That's all I'm telling you, let's change the subject."

OOOOO

They got home and Milt helped get Mark settled in and it wasn't too long before McCormick drifted off to nap in his temporary room. Milt took the opportunity to call up Frank Harper and get caught up to speed on the investigation. With McCormick's condition improving, Hardcastle began to want to get to the bottom of the assault and find out the meaning of the so-called message.

"I wish I could tell you something new Milt, but with no witnesses or evidence left on the scene, it's gonna be tough."

"Well, now that I'm home, I can start digging through my files to see what I can come up, since it's obviously someone I know."

"How's McCormick doing?"

"Improving slowly, he's sleeping right now, but the doctor says that that's normal, given his injuries."

"Is he remembering anything yet?"

"No, he's guessing, that's what he's doing," Hardcastle groused.

"What does that mean?" Harper laughed on the other end of the telephone.

"It means that all he really remembers is that he was at Gino's and that he found the blue Mustang. Everything else he comes up with is just a lot of guess work and then he waits for me to confirm or deny, which I'm trying not to do."

"He's a smart kid, that's for sure."

"Yeah, a smart aleck that's for sure," Milt paused, "I don't know if he's going to be able to give us much more either Frank. It'd probably be a good thing if he doesn't remember, I'm not so sure reliving the torture he had to endure would help him in any way."

"We're still waiting to see if we can pull any finger prints off of the Mustang or any of the other cars in the vicinity. But, whoever did it knew what they were doing, everything seems to be wiped clean. They knew not to leave any clues. I'll keep you posted though, let me know if you come up with anything from your files."

"Will do Frank, thanks." Hardcastle hung up the phone and pulled out a photocopy of the note that McCormick's attackers had left on him at the scene. The cops had the original note, which like everything at Gino's auto yard, contained no fingerprints or anything that might lead to a lead. Frank had made him a copy though, so he could have it at Gulls Way and see if it would match up to anything in his files.

He laid out the letter on his desk and kept rereading it over and over, trying to let the message sink in, and tie in to someone's voice he could hear. Nothing was clicking.

He sat back in the chair and pulled up a few files and began to sift through the material enclosed inside them. Several hours passed by as he read countless records and reports from his personal storage cabinet.

He'd gone through all four of his upstairs files and he decided to go down to the basement and pull up some more. While he was downstairs, McCormick got up and went into the den looking for the Judge. He noticed all the files strewn around and scratched his head as he walked over behind the desk and sat down. He shuffled some of the files and papers around, not knowing what he was looking at or what the Judge was looking for. It was the photocopy at the very bottom of the pile that caught his eye.

He plucked it off the desk and read it over and over.

Hardcastle came back into the room carrying an armful of files. "Hey, when'd you get up?"

Mark ignored the question and held up the photocopy, "What's this?"

"Listen, there's some of those shakes in the kitchen, you want one? I'll go get one for you."

"No, I don't want one, I want to know what this is?" McCormick held up the photocopy.

"What's what?"

"This message!" His voice had an air of irritation to it. "Where did this come from?"

Milt set the files on the closest nearby end table and proceeded over to the desk. "They left it on you. Whoever beat you up, left that note on you. That's just a copy, Frank's got the original."

"I thought you said we didn't have any evidence?"

"That note doesn't tell us anything kiddo, no one signed it."

"It's still a clue Judge."

"McCormick, I've just spent the last couple of hours, heck, the last ten days trying to come up with something that matches and I'm drawing a blank. None of my old files are giving me anything. I'm drawing a blank on this one."

"Well, maybe it's someone I know too, you could have told me about this."

"I could have, but you need to concentrate on your health right now. This psycho isn't going anywhere. He's probably keeping an eye on us."

Mark read it over again, "No wonder you got a guard," McCormick shook his head. "You've definitely been doing this Lone Ranger thing for far too long," Mark teased him.

Milt wasn't laughing. "I never meant for any of this to happen to you."

"Judge, I'm not blaming you, I knew what you expected of me all along, I knew it could be dangerous, that thought never entered my mind," he paused and let out a laugh at his own expense, "not that a lot is currently entering my mind."

"Oh stop that, you're doing just great. You'll be one hundred percent in no time."

"So this is like a game huh? We try to figure out and catch this freak before he does in either of us," McCormick said.

"Yeah, except it's not that easy."

"Sure it is, now that we know someone's trying to kill us, we can keep our eyes on each other's back."

"Somehow I don't think it'll be that easy," Milt said.

"It never is, but we'll figure it out."

OOOOO

McCormick sat out by the pool reading some old issues of _Sports Illustrated_ that Frank Harper had dropped off for him as something to do to pass time. Every so often he'd drift off under the warm sun or when the boredom of reading them set in. Officer Howard, the non-conversationalist, as McCormick had described him, sat under the shade of the house, keeping his eyes open to protecting McCormick, and just to live up to his billing of not saying anything.

Out walked the Judge, "McCormick, I'm going out for awhile, you need anything before I go?"

McCormick groggily opened his eyes and asked, "Where you going? Maybe I could go along for the ride?" He suddenly perked up.

"I'm not going for a drive, I've got some stops to make, people to see."

The suspicious nature of McCormick increased. "What kind of stops?"

"Whatta ya mean what kind of stops, just stops, since when do I need to give you a detailed agenda?"

"You're chasing down a lead huh? Gonna stop and see Frank maybe?" McCormick tried to prod him.

"No I'm not chasing down a lead, I'm not working on a case, you know that."

"Oh you're not, are you? What about my case, huh? Come on Judge, my brain is a little soft right now, but I'm not stupid. Do you have some new information?"

The Judge showed signs of weariness himself, "McCormick, if you gotta know, I'm going to see my own doctor for a quick check-up. Is that okay?"

McCormick got serious, "You're alright aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm fine, it's just a quick check up, and they might want to run a blood test or get an x-ray or something, no big deal, I feel great. It's just that time of the year. Don't go getting all motherly on me. It happens every year about this time."

Now it was Mark's turn to look disappointed, "I guess I'll just hang around here then, I've had enough of doctors lately anyway."

Hardcastle's internal grin was from ear to ear. "I figured you wouldn't want to come along, had enough of doctors right? I don't blame ya there. I left some John Wayne tapes in the den. You should pop one of them in if you get bored and take Howard along with you, maybe even he'd enjoy the Duke."

McCormick looked over to the somber Howard and rolled his eyes at the Judge, "I don't think Howard enjoys anything."

Hardcastle laughed, "I promise the next time you need protection that you can interview the candidates first for compatibility. Hey, I'll bring you a milk shake back, if you want."

"Great, can't wait," Mark had gone back to leafing through the _Sports Illustrated_.

"I'll try to get back soon," Hardcastle added.

"Just go already, me and Howard will be fine, I promise."

The Judge shook his head and gave him a smile and then promptly left.

OOOOO

Hardcastle felt bad for lying to the kid about having a doctor appointment, but it was the only thing he could come up with that he knew McCormick would not want to participate in. He really wanted to do some investigating himself and his first stop was going to be Gino Moretti's Salvage Yard. The way Milt had it figured was that if he wanted to know what happened to McCormick, he'd have to get to the bottom of things himself and that meant starting at the scene of the crime. He also realized he probably wouldn't get to the bottom of things in one afternoon, so he would most likely need to use his doctor's excuse a few more times, claiming additional tests and what not and that would probably come in handy that he started that line with McCormick.

Gino was in the office, watching the Dodgers play the Cubs in Chicago, one of the few places you could see a weekday afternoon day game, and he looked up surprised to see Milt heading from his truck toward the little shack. He flipped off the old black and white TV and got up to greet him. It was one of those rare times the Cubs would manage to win a game anyway and Gino didn't really want to see the Dodgers lose.

Moretti greeted him with a wide smile, "Milt, how are you? And how's Mark doing?" He held out his hand for Hardcastle to shake.

"We're both fine Gino, how's business?"

"Slow, but that's nothing new, that's why I love it, gives me time to watch a ballgame every day. Really though, how's my boy doing?"

"He's coming along Gino, really. He's been home for a couple of days now, still recuperating, but mostly driving me crazy, but I'll keep him in line."

"You always do Milt!" Gino let out a hearty laugh. "You sure I can't pick up the hospital bill or something? I mean it happened out here on my property and all?" Milt shook him off for about the hundredth time. "So what brings you out to the junkyard?"

"Well, I want to take a look around, if you don't mind, do a little snooping myself."

"Think the cops missed something huh?"

"Wouldn't be the first time Gino," Milt gave him a smile. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, in fact, would you mind if I tag along? I've gone over inch of the yard a couple of times thinking maybe I would spot something, but maybe between the two of us we can dig something up. You know your nose for crime fighting and me knowing my way around the yard, how about it?" Gino offered.

"Any help would be much appreciated Gino, and you're right, two heads usually are better than one for this sort of thing, let's go see what we can find."

The two of them chatted lightly as they walked down to the spot where Mark had been horribly attacked. Along the way, Gino pointed out different areas he'd searched through, given the suspected surprise of the assault, especially any areas that he thought someone could have snuck in to the yard in the first place and secondly, how they could have quietly come up upon Mark. Hardcastle and Moretti stopped along the way to snoop around and inspect these areas for anything that might have been dropped, left, touched or deposited by the attackers. Milt showed Gino how to check into every crack or crevice that something could have fallen into.

"You act like a cop instead of a judge," Gino cracked.

"I was a cop for a lot of years Gino, you don't really forget the basics, like riding a horse you know? The two jobs really go hand in hand you know?" Hardcastle said as he flipped over a rusted out door frame to reveal a rat. Both men took a step back as the rat ran off. "Wonder if he saw anything?" Milt questioned with a smile.

They got to the area of the blue Mustang. The area was still roped off with police tape, which Gino pulled off. "Cops said they were done here anyway," he explained as he shook his head as they both saw McCormick's blood still stained on the side of the car. "I got clean all this off, it makes me sick to come back this way and see it. I suppose I could just hire a service to do it, the cops gave me a card."

Hardcastle stopped in his tracks and suddenly became speechless as he saw his young friend's blood spattered like it was some sort of freakish Jackson Pollack painting.

"You okay Milt? I could get it cleaned up and we can do this another time if you want?" Gino was offering.

Hardcastle shook the chilling image out of his mind and glanced over to Gino, "Nah, we'll do it now, I'm here, let's get it over with."

They both remained stationary for another moment. "Sick bastards, whoever they are," Gino added quietly as he finally broke through and took a step forward. Milt held his own comment and looked down to the ground and then moved forward and around to the other side, where McCormick's blood wasn't spattered and began to peer inside the body of the Mustang. "Bart still wants the engine, he's gonna hire a company from Santa Monica to do the work though, he thought it might upset Mark."

"Either way it'll probably upset McCormick, but he's in no condition to do any kind of mechanical work right now, so it's probably a good thing." Gino walked up to car and started to look in the interior as well. "I don't see anything in here," Milt stepped back and thought for a second. "I wonder if there's anything under the hood. Chances are McCormick was looking under there when he got surprised, right?"

"I checked in there top to bottom, but, give it another look." Gino took a few steps back and began to try to visualize the whole situation in his head. From what he could surmise, Milt was probably right, that Mark was under the hood when he first got smacked on the back of his head. There had been some blood on the ground there, by now it was smeared in to the dirt. After that, given the violent stain on the driver's side of the Mustang, Gino figured that Mark had fallen back time and time again against the side panel of the car. His blood was spattered clear back to the rear panel bumper. Moretti thought about it a little more. The police had said that there was an unknown smudge of a fingerprint or torn skin on the body of the Mustang. Gino wondered if maybe one of the assailants was holding Mark and subsequently went down when McCormick went down. If that was the case, maybe some bit of evidence may have landed just beyond the car. It was worth a try, he had nothing but time to look for any bit of a clue anyway. His eyes shifted from the Mustang to the pile of old carburetors, starters and alternators that were piled up behind the car. "Hey Milt," he called out. Hardcastle popped out his head from under the hood and listened as Gino began to relate his theory. Hardcastle agreed that it was indeed worth looking into. The two of them began to rummage through the pile of parts, tossing things aside in order to find any type of clue.

Neither one of them noticed a set of eyes trained in on every move they made.

OOOOO

Billy boy had snuck in through the open front gate of the auto salvage yard this time. He'd been assigned to follow Hardcastle who led him to Moretti's. Billy boy had been warned that this crazy Judge would not just let this go and that was proving to be the case. He got out of his car and went inside the yard when he saw the two of them exit the office and head out into the yard. He knew they were going to look over the scene of the assault. He had to follow them.

His nerves were a mess as he watched them go through ever inch of the area, including the Mustang. Now the two of them had focused on a pile of auto parts just behind the car. Billy boy tried to take in a deep breath, but he felt his own lungs tightening up on him. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his asthma inhaler and inhaled its medicine. He waited a few seconds for the relief to take effect and he took a few steps closer to see what was going on and maybe listen in on their conversation.

OOOOO

"This is like looking for a needle in a haystack Milt," Gino lamented. "We don't even know what to look for or if anything's in here."

"Well, you're the guy who thought of it, you can't quit on me now Gino." Milt barely took in a breath as he continued to shake different parts and toss them to the side. "We'll know it if we see it, we're looking for anything that's not a car part."

Gino went back to his own digging. As they got to the bottom of the large, dirty pile of parts, Gino focused on an odd shaped item. "Milt, I don't believe this, but I think we just hit the jackpot." Gino was reaching down to pluck it off of the ground.

"Nope wait, don't touch it," Milt called out and came around to see it as well, "I'll be damned Gino, you should be a cop!"

"That's one of those asthma inhalers isn't it?" Moretti asked.

"Yep, and so what's it doing in a pile of old auto parts?"

Gino asked the obvious, "It's not McCormick's is it?"

"Nope. Why don't you run back to the office and call up Frank Harper and tell him what we've found. I want to stay here and see what else I can find." Gino nodded his approval and went off to the office to make the call.

This time Billy boy snuck out of the auto yard over the back fence to avoid being seen. He knew he had to make a phone call and he wasn't looking forward to it.

OOOOO

Billy boy found a pay phone about a block down the road and dialed up his boss. "Yeah, this is Billy boy, we got a big problem. They're going to be able to ID me."

"I'll have to clean up the mess you've made then." The voice on the other side of the phone replied. "Meet us at Gull's Way, we'll take care of this once and for all."

OOOOO

Mark was busy leafing through a ten-month old issue of _Sports Illustrated. _A face on the page jumped out to him. It was a senior picture portrait of Lance Cash, Steven Kennedy's protégé. Cash was grinning broadly in the glossy photo and Mark took a few extra minutes to read the accompanying copy. He recalled the last case that he and the Judge had worked on and solved. It was hard to believe this smiling kid in the picture was the same young thug that McCormick had shagged out of a semi. It seemed like such a waste. The story that accompanied the picture more than surprised him. Good thing his jaw was wired shut, because if not it would have fallen to the floor. He had actually stumbled, quite accidentally, onto something that could identify who had attacked him and left the so-called message for Hardcastle.

He called out to Howard across the pool that he was going inside to track down Hardcastle. He'd start by calling him at his doctor's office.

OOOOO

By the time Billy boy drove over to the estate, Manny and two other men were impatiently waiting for him to arrive just on the outskirts of the wall. They cautiously entered the grounds. According to Manny, who had been staking out Gulls Way, only McCormick and his private security guard were the only ones at home. Manny smugly assured the other three men that he could take care of the both the guard and McCormick. No one questioned his brute strength, they watched as he went to work.

They waited poised to spring and found their opportunity when McCormick got up from the chaise lounge he was reclining upon and went inside the house. Manny quickly sprang up and came up behind Officer Howard. Using his enormous arms he reached down and twisted Howard's neck, nearly snapping it in two. Howard dropped to the ground in a heap without uttering a sound.

Manny didn't stop, into the house he went, looking for McCormick. It was only a matter of seconds before he came out dragging a struggling Mark in his massive arms.

"Knock it off, you're not going anywhere pal," Manny said as he kept Mark in his grasp.

McCormick looked around and saw that Officer Howard had been virtually disposed of and he knew right then that he was in serious trouble. When the other 3 men stepped into view, he swallowed hard, and he knew he was right. It only had taken a ten-month old copy of _Sports Illustrated_ to solve this case.

OOOOO

Milt and Gino hung around waiting for a police team along with Frank Harper to show up at the auto yard. The police came in, took a few photos of the evidence and then carefully picked up the inhaler so that it could be dusted and run for finger prints.

"Frank, give me a call at home if you get anything from it," Milt said as he said goodbye to both Harper and Moretti.

"Will do Milt, say hi to Mark for us."

OOOOO

Milt walked into a suspiciously silent house. He called out for McCormick a couple of times and got no answer. No matter, it was just mid-afternoon now and he'd been outside earlier in the day and he was probably still out there getting a nice sunburn in the afternoon sun. How many times did if have to remind the kid to use sunscreen, he wondered to himself?

He stepped out of the house onto the patio and saw a gun pointed at his head by someone he vaguely recognized. The man with the gun stepped in behind him and told him in a quiet voice to keep on walking. The Judge obeyed the command until he could try to ascertain what exactly was going on. He glanced around the patio and his heart sunk. A mammoth of a man he didn't recognize stood behind McCormick, he had him locked in some sort of vice-like grip around his neck and head. Another man sat in one of the patio chairs, holding some sort of cloth behind his head, perhaps attempting to stop the bleeding of a head wound. And then from out of the shadows stepped a most unusual person.

Bart Andrews.

While he didn't understand what exactly Bart Andrews had to do with any of this, Milt knew right then and there that he was behind this whole ordeal. Hardcastle had seen enough and went immediately toward Mark in an effort to help him. The man holding him immediately tightened up his arms and began to choke McCormick out. Mark began to squirm under the strain. Milt took a tentative step back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you Milt. My friend Manny there is under strict instructions to finish off your little mercy prison project if you try anything," Andrews took a step towards Milt and spoke coolly.

Hardcastle wasn't impressed or convinced. He wasn't going to let some brute intimidate him and he again moved toward McCormick. Bart attempted to step between them, holding up his arm to stop Hardcastle. Andrews wasn't ready to finish this off so quickly. "Judge, really, your sense of chivalry is commendable, but allow us to demonstrate just exactly how serious we are here. Let me introduce to you Manny Rivera. You might remember that he was an up and coming heavyweight boxing prospect about eight years ago. Manny was the first fighter I signed as a sports agent and in his first pro fight, his opponent hit him too many times in the right temple and Manny's vision was never the same and he couldn't box professionally ever again. I couldn't let Manny down, I felt responsible, being his agent and all, so I had to find some other work for him to do. He's very good at it. And he's very loyal. Let's show you his loyalty." Andrews turned to talk to Manny. "This hold he has on McCormick right now, it's something he learned on a trip to Indonesia. Manny's always interested in learning knew skills, like this little maneuver. He merely has to apply a little pressure to Mark's head and neck with his right forearm and bicep," he paused while Manny demonstrated by tightening up his awesome grip on Mark's head and neck, "and you can see the blood will drain from his face and his skin tone becomes pale. Mark's eyes will start to glaze over and he'll soon close his eyes and fall unconscious. Mark will try to fight him momentarily, but Manny has 1600 pounds of force trained just on the right area of McCormick's head. There's no possible way any man could get out of this hold. Men have tried. Milt watched fearfully as he saw Mark's struggling arms reduced to quivering limbs at his sides. Then they went completely still, hanging down like dead weight at his sides. Bart continued to speak, "If Manny keeps him in that position for a mere three minutes, well, it becomes a permanent condition, better known as death. And you obviously don't want that to happen to your trusted sidekick now do you?" Hardcastle continued to watch with anxious and terrified impatience as Mark was helpless against Manny's assault. He wondered how he could possibly stop these madmen. McCormick struggled initially just as Bart explained, arms flailing out, trying to release the grip, but it was a futile attempt. His eyes glazed over quickly, staring right at Milt and in just seconds he succumbed to the choke out and his eyes fluttered closed. His jaw, initially tensed up, still wired from where it had been broken, suddenly slacked, and his lips parted and he oddly exhaled. He was out cold. "Manny has told me what he relishes about this particular hold is that at first the choke paralyzes nearly every muscle and nerve in the man's body, leaving only his lungs, brain and heart functioning. His lungs and brain begin to shut down from this kind of strain as well, leaving his heart attempting to keep his entire body alive. The heart begins to pump at an overbearing rate, faster, harder and stronger than it ever has, overworking and overtaxed. Manny said that he can actually _sense _the man's heart beating out of control against his own chest, as if it wants to leap out of the mans body and into his. He draws upon that beating heart and feeds off that strength. It's all very primal. And as I've said, in about three minutes, Manny _feels_ the man's heart explode in his chest. He's killed two men like this already. He says it's a religious experience for him, driving the life out of someone, just watch your young friend there and think about all that happening to him."

Milt's anger boiled over, and he tried to push past Andrews, "You can't do this, come on Andrews, call him off, McCormick's been through enough," the Judge pleaded. "Let him go, you got me now, that's what you wanted, you don't need him any more."

Andrews looked from one side to the other and waited just enough to make Milt even crazier, "Manny, that's enough for now, very good demonstration though, bring him back around."

Manny released his cobra-like grip and he used his left hand to slap McCormick's face a few times to bring him back. In a few seconds, McCormick's head snapped backwards against Manny's chest and he took a few gasps for air. It took him a few more seconds to shake out the cobwebs and have the color return to his face.

"I suggest Milt, that you take me very seriously here," he coyly nodded, "I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get back to your little hideaway here. I understand you were out at Moretti's and you found something that belonged to Mr. Baines over there," he motioned toward Billy boy, who sat with a compress against the back of his head.

"Well, you're the last person I would have thought had anything to do with this," Milt said with a touch of anger in his voice. He looked over to Mark and asked, "You alright kiddo?"

"For now," McCormick choked out, still fighting to fill his lungs and brain with oxygen as the man with the vice grip tightened up on him, cutting him off from saying anything else.

Milt saw the goon's arm flex even tighter around Mark's neck and he sneered at both the goon and at Andrews and then he finally asked. "Ah, that's enough, back off of McCormick, if it's me you want, leave the kid out of it. I'm not gonna try anything," the Judge cried out angrily, "You want to tell me just what the hell this is all about?"

"I thought the note explained it quite well actually."

"The note was a piece of garbage," Milt fired back spitefully. He looked over to check on McCormick, who was holding his own, but obviously wasn't going to be much help in a 2 on 4 situation. Hardcastle needed to figure out a way out of this by himself. "Where's Howard?" he directed towards McCormick.

Mark carefully glanced back over his shoulder to lead Hardcastle's eyes toward another body lying on the ground.

Bart decided to explain. "Officer Howard met up with Manny there. Just like McCormick in the auto yard, he never knew what hit him. I think he's dead though. Manny knows just how and where to do the exact damage required. It was rather unfortunate, but I believe it's called collateral damage," Bart said.

"Listen Bart, you want to clear this all up for me, because it's not making a lot of sense right now. McCormick was doing you a favor by helping out with your car. Why'd you have to beat the hell out of him for that? What sort of message is that to me? How does any of that affect what you do? I'm not following it."

"This isn't about the car or McCormick. It was the only thing I could come up with to get to you. I should have known that you wouldn't stop though. You know Milt, you really believed all that stuff we learned in law school, loyalty, justice and that other noble bullshit. It really doesn't mean anything out here in the real world. The only thing that matters out here is cold, hard cash and you're trying to take it away from me. As I told you in the note, this is a message for you and you, my friend, haven't learned your lesson yet. I can't have you treading on my potential profits any longer. This is _my_ life. It's happened three times now and as they say in the great American pastime of baseball, three times and you're out Milt." Andrews smiled and kept talking, "Your boy even figured it out, didn't you Mark?" McCormick didn't say anything. "When we came into the house he was trying to get a hold of you to tell you what he'd discovered. And I'm afraid he's 'inherited' your sense of right and wrong. It's too bad, I understand he's quite a successful car thief, under the guise of race car driver. If things had worked out differently here, perhaps I could have signed him to my team, where his skills and talents would not have gone for naught. Manny, let McCormick talk for a second," Bart asked. Manny loosened up his grip around Mark's throat. "Tell Milt what you found out Mark."

Mark was able to get a few deeper breaths first and then he eyed up the Judge, "I tried calling your doctor's office before to tell you, but they said you weren't there, that you didn't have an appointment. I spotted something in one of Frank's old _Sports Illustrated's_." Bart had the issue in his hand and took a few steps toward Hardcastle and handed him the article. McCormick continued to explain, "You know the 'Faces in the Crowd' column? One of the young up and coming basketball stars was a kid from LA named Lance Cash. He was going to go right from high school to the pros and his agent was Andrews," Mark explained. "The kid lived in poverty all his life and this was his break. He had all the skill to be an NBA superstar."

Milt shifted his gaze from McCormick to Andrews. "You're mixed up with Steven Kennedy?" Hardcastle started to connect the dots. "That's what this is? You sign up these unsuspecting athlete's to do all sorts of dirty work and you reap in all the profits. And I thought Kennedy was at the top."

The three men laughed along with Andrews, who finally spoke up, "Steven Kennedy works for me Milt, he always has. Even he was a talented up and coming hockey player back in his day."

"So all this is about is sports and contracts? Some sort of athletes gone to the dark side thing. They're pro's by day and criminals by night?"

"Hardcastle, I could buy and sell you a thousand times over. It's much more than sports and contracts. Yes, I'm all about making money, any way and with anyone I can. It's money, and lots of it. I can't keep letting you take what's mine that just wouldn't be fair, that is, unless I can take something of yours. Steven and Lance are going to be in prison for a long time, and now you've got evidence on Billy boy, I can't have that. You need to be stopped and the only way I could think of was to hurt something near to your heart. I warned you this has to stop, but you didn't take heed of my message. You can't do this to me anymore. And now I will stop you."

"It's all sick Bart, and you're never going to get away with any of it. The police have the inhaler, and they'll find his fingerprints are all over it. Billy boy Baines, that's a blast from the past," Hardcastle laughed, as he recognized him now. "He used to be a linebacker for the Raiders and his career nosedived when he got busted for cocaine. It's too bad Billy boy, you were a helluva linebacker. Some people even compared you to guys like Nitschke and Butkus. He's one of your washed up clients too? You really need to teach him better Bart, you can't leave evidence at a crime scene. Any first year law student would be all over that." Milt tried to jab a little at the intelligence of his old classmate.

Baines head popped up but before he could say anything, Andrews chimed in. "Mr. Baines will pay the price for his indiscretion, I'll deal with him later for that, he knows that, there's no need for you to concern yourself with Mr. Baines."

"And I could still play today too old man, but the damn NFL won't reinstate me," Baines added.

Milt sort of laughed at him and looked over to the third goon that Bart had brought along. "And if I'm not mistaken, this is Karl, the flamethrower, Flambeau, he pitched for the Reds, the White Sox, the Royals, the A's, the Angels and the Giants before he finally had his season of glory with the Yankee's. They moved him from a starting job to the bullpen where he could throw an inning of 90 plus fastballs and he set a season mark for saves. Then he disappeared at the end of the '77 World Series after Tiko Compadre, all 5 foot three of him rocked him for a 3-run homer in game seven. The Yankee's lost 5-4. No one gave the Indians a chance. Too bad, I made a lot of money on that game Karl, thanks to you and your tired, overworked arm," Milt shook his head, "Another one of your successful clients, huh? Maybe that's your problem Bart, too much dead weight like these three, what you'd really like to do is get your hands on a Magic Johnson or a Mike Schmidt right? Proven commodities, not washed up, burned out losers. You never took the class on sticking to one thing and excelling at it. Branching out in too many areas can be dangerous."

"Lance Cash wasn't washed up, or burned out Milt, he was my golden ticket and you took him away from me. Hardcastle you don't know a damn thing about being a sports agent. It's risk taking."

"Ah, see you're wrong there, I know all about risk taking, but I don't use people in the process Bart. I help 'em to the best of my ability, and then I let 'em stand on their own and if I'm real lucky I get to take a little pride when they make something good out of themselves."

Andrews chuckled sarcastically, "That's very touching Milt, I'm sure McCormick enjoyed hearing part of his eulogy early."

"I asked you to leave McCormick out of this, he's been through enough already, let's just leave this between you and I Andrews, since I'm the one you really want."

"I can't do that, look at him Milt, he knows way too much, and like I said, he's one of those Pollyanna believers like you. Nope, I'm gonna kill him first and make you watch, that ought to teach you."

Then what about me Bart, what are you going to do to me?"

"We're gonna kill you too of course, and then we're going to make it look like Billy boy killed you both and he'll take the fall. He's prepared to go to prison. It's a small price for him to pay to stay alive and we'll be able to feed him his cocaine in prison. I'm tired of covering his ass anyway. He's nothing but a dope head, you're right about him." Milt glanced over at Baines, still holding his head, but he looked over to Hardcastle at the same time and gave him a slight tweak of his eye, just to let him know he'd stand by him. Andrews kept taking, "And I can't have either you or McCormick going around destroying my livelihood, you've got to understand that. Lance Cash was going to be my big ticket, the NBA is where the big payout is right now."

"We're not going down without a fight Bart," Hardcastle answered, sensing that this thing was quickly coming to a head.

"I was hoping you'd say that, there's nothing like making a little sport out of something like this. That's why I love this business. It always comes down to winning and losing and sometimes there's a very high price to pay. Are you ready to lose everything Milt?" Andrews turned toward Manny and gave him signal to do in McCormick. Manny immediately cranked his right arm and started to put the added pressure to Mark's head once again, just as he had demonstrated earlier.

Mark's arms went up instinctively as the pressure of Manny's arms began to snuff the life out of him. His arms ripped, clawed, tugged and pulled at Manny's vice-like grip, all without any shred of success. He knew that Manny and Bart meant to end this thing right here and now and he was in the middle of the maelstrom. He attempted to try to throw a couple of elbows in Manny's sides, but it was like trying to smash at steel, nothing was having an effect on this giant. He was an abnormally, powerfully strong man and Mark was rendered defenseless as the massive arms pressed against his head, he knew he was slipping away. In just a matter of seconds once again, the fight in his arms subsided and faded away to nothing. They fell to his sides in limp defeat, the blood drained from his face and just as before, his eyes glazed over and within twenty seconds he'd gone unconscious.

Bart Andrews watched McCormick's head bob down in Manny's choke hold and he smiled, thinking his plan was working. Flambeau, who still hadn't said a word, stood still as he aimed the .38 he held right at Hardcastle and the second Flambeau glanced over to see McCormick fading away, Billy boy Baines leapt up from the chair he sat in, and like a panther springing up, threw a flying body block into the former Relief Pitcher of the Year. The gun went flying in Hardcastle's direction. Baines and Flambeau continued to pound and beat on each other in an attempt to gain the upper hand on one another.

In the commotion, the Judge reached down and plucked the .38 off the ground, just as Bart Andrews was going for it as well. Hardcastle trained the gun right at Bart's head. "Call you dog off right now Bart, or I swear to God I will kill you right here."

Bart Andrews wore a look of smugness on his face. "Go ahead and kill me Hardcase, do you think that Manny is going to listen to me? Look at him, look at McCormick, he _enjoys_ doing that. I told you so. McCormick's as good as dead right now. He'll let go of McCormick alright, right after he's dead and not a second before. It's a sickness, that's why I keep him around. When you find someone who actually likes doing that sort of thing and doesn't get caught, well, you just let them keep doing it and you stay out of their way."

Milt kept the gun on Andrews but glanced over to see McCormick's life vanishing before his eyes, his life being literally sucked out of him by a psychopath. Manny sneered as he saw Hardcastle looking at him, and he let out a primal yell and using his sheer strength and the grip he had on McCormick's head, he easily raised Mark's entire body off the ground like he was picking up a bag of groceries, McCormick's entire dead weight was mere putty in the hands of this crazy madman. Manny held McCormick's limp body up as some sort of badge of honor and glory in front of his own mammoth body, like some sort of a human trophy. At first he laughed as he seemed to crank his arms around McCormick's head with even more brutal force. He screamed again and shook McCormick's lifeless body from one side to another side of his enormous body just to show off his amazing strength.

"See, he's not going to let him down until he knows he's dead. He's waiting for his heart to explode." Andrews said, "So go ahead and kill me. When he's done with McCormick, he'll come after you and do the same thing."

Hardcastle knew what he had to do. Without a second thought he hoisted the gun and aimed at Manny's right bicep. The shot needed to be placed exactly, otherwise he'd kill McCormick himself. He pulled the trigger and delivered the bullet to the precise spot he'd aimed for, blowing a hole and depositing the slug into the spot that would hopefully release McCormick from the killing grasp.

It took a couple of more seconds, but this time Manny screamed out, it wasn't the pleasure of inflicting pain on someone else, it was from the gaping, bloody, hole that had been torn in his arm.

Hardcastle had turned the gun back on Bart but watched and saw Manny's arm shake and finally release the killing grip. He staggered backwards and stumbled, taking McCormick backwards with him as he hit the cement floor of the patio. Milt watched as he saw Manny attempt to finish off McCormick once and for all and had not choice but to re-aim and put one final slug into the menacing madman before he could do any more damage to Mark. Manny fell back against the cold cement unable to do any more harm to the unconscious McCormick.

Milt saw Mark take a gasping breath, the jolt from the fall to the ground probably had a good effect on helping to revive him.

Hardcastle now focused on Bart Andrews, who took advantage of Milt shooting Manny, that he lunged at Milt and the two of them began to punch and fight each other. "You sonofabitch Andrews, if McCormick dies, I'll make sure you pay for this for the rest of your natural life." Hardcastle threw a blistering right hand to the face of Andrews. Bart didn't back down and fired off an equally punishing shot to the Judge.

"That's good enough for me Milt, I want you to always remember this, that's what I wanted all along, that's exactly the message," he nearly laughed as the two of them pounded on one another.

On and on their fight went, until Andrews had pulled out some brass knuckles of his own and slipped them on his right hand and connected a devastating blow in Milt's ribcage. Hardcastle doubled over immediately and fell to a knee. Bart moved in quickly to finish him off. "I learned a few tricks from Manny myself, some very nasty ones," he snidely said to Milt as he picked his head up and planned on delivering another vicious blow to his face.

Neither one of them had noticed Mark off in the distance, slowly coming around. He heard Bart's boasting of knowing Manny's tricks and he knew he had to do something to help out Hardcastle. He rolled over and spied the .38 off to his side and managed to crawl his way toward it. Digging down from within, he eased himself up sort of lean against a patio chair to steady himself enough to shoot the gun. He took aim just as Bart was ready to clock a dazed Hardcastle. He pulled the trigger and put the slug right between Andrews shoulder blades. Immediately Bart released the grasp he had on Milt's shirt and he tumbled forward into the Judge, who now pushed him aside, letting him fall dead to the ground.

He looked over and saw McCormick dropping the gun to the patio floor and slumping back down himself as the chair gave way from the force of the gunshot. Back over his shoulder he saw that Billy boy Baines had gotten the better of Flamethrower Flambeau, as he had just smashed a knee into his gut and followed it up with a blow to his temple. Flambeau was on the ground cowering as Billy boy stood over him waiting to give him more.

Milt went over to Mark and picked up the gun along the way and then went to help Mark sit up a little bit. Mark coughed and gasped as Hardcastle came up behind him. "Don't try to move kiddo, it's all over now, just relax, take some deep breaths," the Judge said. He cradled the kid's head in his own hands and sat down on the patio and leaned the kid's head against his own body, he watched the kid closely as his eyes closed momentarily and he shuddered as he took in a breath. "McCormick, are you alright?" he asked, out of breath from his own assault.

Mark opened his eyes back up and coughed a little and took another gasping breath as he began to relax in the comfort of the Judge's arms, "Just saved you, didn't I? I should be asking you that," he gave the Judge a wink.

"Yeah, I think we both had enough of this for awhile huh?"

"Good guys always win Hardcase, you know that. You should call the cops."

Milt nodded, "I will, you gonna be okay here for a minute?" He handed the gun back to him, so that he could defend himself against Baines and Flambeau if need be. He helped him up to more of a sitting position.

"I got your back Kemosabe, go on now," Mark continued to lean back against his friend as he pointed the gun at the other two men and began to wait.

Milt waited an extra long time before he got to his feet. He figured both of them needed the extra bit of time to take a breath and get some composure back. He leaned McCormick forward a little to help him get to a stable sitting position on his own and gave him a gentle pat on his back as he himself got to his feet and went off to the house to call the police. As he walked away, he paused for a second and looked at a weary, but very much alive Mark McCormick. He shook his head and offered up a silent prayer for both their lives. As he turned back he saw the dead body of Bart Andrews and thought to himself, how ironic the message he got from all this was. McCormick was alive and he had survived the whole ordeal. He'd actually saved Hardcastle's life. Milt knew after time, he'd forget about seeing the kid's brutally beaten face and body, rather he'd always see a trusted and faithful friend, a friend who'd lay down his own life for him. That was the message he got. And that brought a smile to his bloodied lips, knowing that Bart Andrews was wrong.

OOOOO

Frank and Milt were out on the patio and Milt was pointing out and explaining what had happened to Harper. Frank reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Milt and motioned to hold it on his still bleeding lip.

"I don't need that," he pushed Harper's hand away.

"Yeah you do, I don't want you to have to get a transfusion over a bloody lip, so use it." He kept his hand straight out until Milt exhaled and finally swiped it from him and put it on his lip. "How's McCormick?" he asked.

"He's not making much sense right now," Milt groused.

"That sounds like typical McCormick," Frank laughed.

"Yeah, maybe, but you should go try talk to him. He's refusing to go to the hospital."

Frank nodded and the two of them headed into the den, where McCormick was getting looked over from the paramedics.

He sat back on one of the leather chairs, looking very much like he had just survived a time in hell. He gave a head nod to both Milt and Frank as they came down the steps into the den.

One of the paramedics spoke up. "He's still refusing a ride to the hospital Judge."

"Give us a few minutes okay?" Milt said to the firefighter.

The two paramedics exited out into the hallway.

"McCormick, why do you gotta fight me on this? You need to get checked out," Hardcastle began a minor rant.

"I'm not going to any hospital. I've had enough of hospitals. Frank, look at me, does it look like I need a hospital?" He tried sitting up a little straighter in the chair, but his face was etched in pain.

"You really want me to answer that?" Frank paused, "Seriously Mark, why don't you just take the ride and get checked out."

"I'm fine, just tired that's it. And I don't need to go there to sleep. There's bed's all over this house. If I go t the hospital, they'll want me to check in and stay there for endless tests and endless days. Besides I gotta answer all _your_ questions."

"My report can wait till you get checked out by a doctor." He watched as Milt ambled over to a chair and sat down tiredly. He turned to face Hardcastle and saw him tenderly rub the side of his abdomen.

Mark saw the same thing and spoke up, "You should go too, look at you, you can't even stand. Did he bust a rib?"

"No, he didn't bust a rib, you know I got in some good licks on him, did you even bother to get a look at him before you shot him," the Judge had to boast.

Mark shook his head, "I must have missed that part, 'cause when I saw you, he was just about to bust your head open with brass knuckles. Next time I'll wait and ask them to turn around so I can compare face bruises. Does that work for you?"

"At least I wasn't unconscious on the patio," Milt shot back.

"Listen both of you, this isn't doing either one of you any good," Frank started, "Maybe we could just get a doctor to come out and check you both out right here, how would that be?" Neither Hardcastle nor McCormick answered. "Alright, that's settled, we'll get a doctor out here, I'll send the paramedics on their way." Frank walked out of the room and left the two of them to talk.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" Hardcastle asked him.

"Look who's talking?" McCormick paused as he looked at the beat up face of the Judge, "I'm just tired, that's all, really Judge, I'm fine."

"Well, Frank's right, I'm going have Charlie come out here and take a look at you and I don't want any arguments."

"Fine," Mark leaned his head back against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, "as long as I don't have to go to the hospital." There was a moment a silence between them and then Mark spoke again, "He's gonna check you over too right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll let him check me out too."

They groaned in unison and settled into the leather chairs to await the doctor.

OOOOO

Five weeks had now passed. Amazingly, no one had actually died in the bloody aftermath. Officer Howard had only suffered a sprained neck, thanks to the body-building regimen he subscribed to. Billy boy Baines had a slight concussion and some bruises from the fight with Flamethrower Flambeau, who also suffered from cuts and scraps. Bart Andrews was still in the hospital recovering from being shot in the back. His prognosis was good and doctors were sure he'd walk again. Manny Rivera also survived his two gunshot wounds and was currently in the county lockup awaiting numerous counts of attempted murder.

Hardcastle did have two broken ribs, both were healing up nicely and Mark McCormick, slept for nearly 18 straight hours after the poolside attack, with Charlie Friedman near by to observe his vital signs and make sure that he indeed was okay.

Yes, five weeks…and now McCormick drove up the familiar path leading to the front of Gulls Way. It was five weeks since he'd been brutally attacked and assaulted at Gino's, just under four weeks since the attack at Gulls Way. And the final remnant of the attack had just been removed. He had gone to the dentist and had the wires removed from his jaw. He finally felt like he was nearly one hundred percent again. He pulled the car right up to the front door and went inside to find the Judge.

Into the den he strode, seeing Hardcastle behind the desk. He looked up right away when the door began to open. "Hey kiddo, you all set finally?"

"Yep, Dr. Jensen says the x-ray shows that I'm all healed up and you know what that means."

Milt cleared his throat, "Probably that you're hungry."

"You know me too well Judge!" McCormick said attempting a full-fledged grin, something he hadn't done in five long weeks either. He stopped short though, from his still tender mouth. "I'm supposed to take it easy though, just sort of soft stuff to start with."

"I hate to burst you bubble McCormick, but you've been sneaking soft food all along."

"So I'll try something a little harder. I never thought chewing would be such an important thing."

"Yeah, whatta ya have in mind?"

"I was thinking of that all-you-can-eat buffet over on 10th and Devine. That way it's just the one price you'll have to pay upfront and I can sit there and eat all afternoon."

"Who said I was paying?" Hardcastle said.

"'Cause I know you're not going to let me go alone to eat and I also know you don't want to get stuck in the kitchen cooking up all the food I am ready to pack away."

Hardcastle pointed at him, "You're right on both counts. It's too bad you still have some work to finish up around here."

"Work? What work? What are you talking about?"

"I told you that the deck needs another scrub down with that bleach solution. We gotta get rid of those blood stains out there. The cement looks horrible, gotta think of resale value kiddo."

"Can't it wait till I eat, I really need some food in me Judge, I'm whittling away to nothing here. It's been five weeks."

"McCormick, there's blood stains on my patio. And you're responsible for some of them."

Mark laughed, "This is the thanks I get for saving your life, McCormick, go clean the bloodstains on the deck?" He mocked Hardcastle by deepening his voice as he spoke.

"That's the life of a sidekick. You knew what you were getting in for."

"Ha, you're kidding me right? I didn't sign up to nearly get killed three times, by the same crazy gorilla. You know you could at least help out there, some of that blood is from the arm and chest of said gorilla that you blew open."

"You're right, I could help you."

"But you're not going to, are you?"

"What kind of message would that send you if I did your work?" Hardcastle asked.

"If I'm not mistaken Hardcase, you were the one who was supposed to get some sort of message from all this, there wasn't any mention of me getting one." McCormick headed up the stairs of the den toward the door. "I'll lay down another layer of bleach out there, but then we're going to dinner. While you're sitting there, you should call your broker and invest in Clorox, we're sure keeping that company in business," He bounded up the stairs and headed out of earshot.

Hardcastle watched him as he headed outside, "I got the message all right kiddo, the two of us make quite a pair. And I aim to keep it that way."

The End


End file.
